Rationale
by Sandfire Kat
Summary: Denial is one hell of a thing.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my second Deception fic I'm working on at the moment- just like my other one, I'm just not sure whether or not enough people would like me to continue it! So! I'm posting it here in the hopes a couple people will like it! This is a very heavy story, though I don't write any explicit material at all! The rating is what it is because of what is to be implied. I hope you all like it and I hope I can hear from you in a review!

This takes place directly after the season finale!

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Denial is one hell of a thing.

It can make you do anything. Think anything. Believe anything. Simply because you didn't want to believe something else instead.

 _It doesn't matter that they're twenty minutes late, they won't stand me up._

 _It doesn't matter they're not answering my calls, they're probably just too busy to talk._

 _It doesn't matter that they're not breathing anymore, they can't be dead._

 _It doesn't matter that they broke up with me, they'll regret it and apologize._

 _It doesn't matter that it didn't work the first two times I did it, it'll work this time._

Pick any one of them. They're all the same. Because they're all stupid.

But maybe not as stupid as this one.

 _It doesn't matter that my brother left me here, because he's coming back._

 _It doesn't matter that Jonathan is gone, because he knows what he's doing._

Maybe that's the stupidest scrap of denial that's ever existed. But it was the first thing that occurred when Cameron picked himself up off the floor. When he gathered his thoughts, scrambled and disoriented from the blow that had knocked him out in the first place— the blow that had come from his brother, too fast and too unexpected to dodge. That was the first thing he felt when he woke up: confusion. Wondering what the heck had just happened because it made as much sense as being told Spider-Man was actually the person that had killed Uncle Ben the entire time. It just hadn't connected. The dots were there, but the numbers weren't— he didn't know how to even begin to draw lines between them. What shape they ended up making.

But once he'd stood and looked towards the door – looked down at himself and then back up in growing alarm – the next thing he'd felt had been shock. Just shock. A numbness rooted in the idea that something had to be wrong, just because these dots didn't make sense. He knew that Jonathan had punched him, had swapped their clothes and escaped on his own to leave him here…but he didn't _understand_ it. They'd…they were going to do it _together_. They were going to leave _together,_ and they were going to solve this… _together,_ like they should have done from the very beginning. He'd come in with everything they'd needed, he'd been— prepared to leave behind everything, to go on the run with his brother, because…because they were going to do it _together_. So why…how…what he'd said— Cameron knew what Jonathan had _said_ , but…

And once the shock faded, after he'd stood in unmoving silence for what felt like a tiny eternity, then that was when the denial had set it. Fully and officially, settled over his shoulders. He'd turned his stunned gaze down to his hands instead, like he was holding an answer there that he just had to study in order to see. The gears in his brain had begun to turn, stuttering and straining with the effort of piecing together this puzzle that didn't make a coherent picture once it was assembled. It made no picture, so he was attempting to make one himself. And that was the picture his mind had crafted. Slowly, and not all surely, but eventually.

Jonathan had left. He'd left him here. He'd switched their places. But he'd done it for a _reason_. There _had_ to be a reason. He'd gone out by himself because he had a plan, and this was just a part of it. He was going to go after the woman himself, because he knew exactly what to do, and he just needed Cameron here to take his place in jail until everything was sorted. The gears spun and twisted, picking up speed the longer he stood alone in that room. Jonathan was going out to do something only he could to take MW down. He needed him here, that was why he'd refused to go with him in the first place when Cameron had offered it. That was it— it _must_ be it. His brother was sorting everything out, and he was trusting him to know that. Just like he'd trusted him to know that when MW had broken into the Archive and pointed a gun to his head.

He'd been there for him, then. He was there for him now. Cameron knew that. It was the only way this made sense.

Or…it wasn't the _only_ way it made sense.

But it was the easiest thing to believe.

So he did. He tried. He told it to himself and tried to reap as much comfort from it as he could.

Jonathan would never leave him. He would never hurt him like this— abandon him like this.

Cameron loved his brother. He trusted him. Both with all his heart.

And Jonathan did the same for him…didn't he?

"Black." Cameron's head snapped up at the bark. His stomach fell three nearly three stories. He turned to the door to see the guard that had let him in. The man had greeted him with a polite smile, before. Now, there wasn't even a shred of that left to see. The older man's stare was hard and flinty, and he regarded Cameron like someone would look at a particularly full garbage can that they really would rather not empty. Cameron said and did nothing; for all he was standing, he was a deer trapped in headlights. Apparently, this was the wrong thing to do. "Come on, Black, you've been loitering long enough," the man snapped. "I don't have time for you to waste."

Cameron blinked rapidly. His mouth was dry— he could barely choke back a swallow. Panic and fear and confusion was a sickening cocktail in the pit of his stomach, and he was doing his best to try and stomp it down before it could mutate into anything more dangerous. When he spoke, his voice was horribly small and weak. Unsure. He wasn't sure. "Did—" He cut himself off. He hesitated for a long moment, his eyes wide as he scrambled for what he should do. The guard was only growing angrier with every passing second he was continuing to 'waste.' He forced the question out, trying not to stutter on it too much. "Did…my brother leave?" he asked.

For all the other reacted, Cameron might as well have asked 'Is water wet?' "He left ten minutes ago, and you're still standing in here," he growled. Cameron tried to reply, an apology already building itself on his tongue simply out of instinct. He was going on though before he could. "You don't have this room anymore, it was only given to you to help the FBI. Now that they don't need you, we're clearing it. You can't hang out in here like it's a Starbucks."

"I— I wasn't—" He couldn't remember the last time he was this confused. He couldn't remember the last time he was this speechless. Eventually, he managed to spit something out, but it likely wasn't at all what was appropriate for this specific situation. "This place is too small to be a Starbucks. Which is saying something, because they're usually _really small_." His words ended in a nervous burst of laughter. Maybe it was the shock and confusion that got him talking like this. He didn't know. Whatever it was, it was stupid. And he knew that as soon as it got out of his mouth. Unfortunately, that was a tad too late to be of any use.

The guard smiled, but the grin was filled with nothing but disdain. It got Cameron to immediately withdraw and sober. "That's funny," they growled. Then they dropped the smile, glowering instead as they stepped to the side and jerked their thumb over their shoulder. "Out," he barked again, and Cameron jerked at the harsh command. "Unless you want to miss lunch, and if that's the case, you can just go back to your cell."

Cameron still stayed where he was for a heartbeat. His mind was racing, sprinting this way and that as he tried to figure out what he should do. His eyes flickered past the guard for a moment, out into the hall. Like some part of him expected Jonathan to be standing there with a smirk on his face and a 'Got ya' on his lips. Just like he always waited for their father to come out and do the same thing, whenever he was particularly cruel. But there was nobody there; Jonathan was long gone. But what was he doing out there? And why hadn't he let him in on what he was going to do?

The map— he took the map, too, didn't he? Maybe he was going there to wait out for MW like Cameron had said before— that would make sense. MW had only wanted to talk to him before with that entire kidnapping case. If Jonathan went out alone and caught her, she wouldn't be as suspecting as she would be if Cameron went along too. That must have been his plan! Cameron could see it, it fit perfectly— that was the picture of the puzzle! He was going to lie to get to her, and that way he could get the evidence he needed, of course he was!

That was why he left him here. He needed time, and he needed the freedom to trick her. Freedom that they wouldn't have had if the police was out looking for him. Jonathan needed him here, that was what was going on. This way, it made sense. Cameron was making it make sense. His brother was— "Black!" Cameron stiffened again at the yell, and he looked back up with a small jump. The guard was scowling now, and it was clear that his temper was running short. If he even had a temper in the first place, and didn't just immediately jump to rage. "Do you want me to drag you out of this room, or do you want to move your goddamn legs?"

Cameron swallowed everything back. The explanations, the questions, the apologies, everything. He clamped his mouth shut and he swallowed hard, clenching his hands into tight fists at hid sides instead. If Jonathan really was trying to do something…and surely that was the case…then it was clear what Cameron's role in this was. He couldn't speak up. He couldn't get Jonathan into trouble. He knew his brother— he knew his brother like the back of his hand. He couldn't get him into trouble by speaking now.

He wouldn't want to, anyway. He loved him.

So…he moved his goddamn legs.

Keeping his hands fisted tightly, Cameron walked out. The guard's irritation was in no way lessened by the compliance— he just slammed the door hard and turned to walk close behind him like a shadow. Cameron took another deep breath and forced himself to keep moving. He forced himself to ignore the sickening feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, as well. As the guard herded him along and snapped at him to keep walking whenever he hesitated. He knew the building— he'd looked at its layout time and again, and he'd visited it enough times to get a bearing on where everything was. But he'd never actually walked these halls. He'd never gone anywhere except the total of about three places visitors were allowed to actually go. The cafeteria wasn't one of these places. That had been off-limits.

He eyed it all as they went. The tiled floor, the harsh fluorescent lights overhead, some of them flickering like they were just about to go out. The walls were concrete and bare, and though Cameron had seen it all more times than he really wanted to admit, somehow it looked completely different now. It _felt_ different. Before now, he hadn't even really thought about the way it looked— he'd really only been focused on seeing Johnny. Now he couldn't really overlook how depressing it kind of was. How oppressive and how…awful. It was awful. That was the only thought that really stuck with him, at first.

But the longer they walked and the longer he was given time to think, other thoughts started cropping up. How genuinely angry his brother had looked when they'd been talking. How he'd glared at him and refused his offer of help over and over again. How he'd punched him and knocked him out cold. And as he walked and thought about all of this, the knot in his stomach started to grow more and more. 'If Jonathan had to leave to go through with his own plan, why didn't he just you that?' it demanded. Cameron wilted, but kept walking. The only change was the smallest hunch of his shoulders. 'If he just explained, he had to know that you would agree. At the very least, why didn't he just shoot you a look or something? To let you know it was all a part of some plan and he'd have it all fixed soon? There was nobody listening in. Nobody watching. If this was a plan, he would have said something.'

 _It doesn't matter that my brother left me here, because he's coming back._

'Yeah, but how do you _know_ that? You don't really _know_ that. He was _furious_. He was angry. You'd messed up with him so many times, you said it yourself. He found a way to let you know he still had your best interests at heart even when MW was two feet away from you. Here, you two were completely alone…there was no camera, no audience…and he knocks you unconscious and leaves you back here. Maybe it's not a plan, maybe this is just his special 'fuck you.' Not that you don't deserve it, but that's another topic to address at a later time. What I'm saying is: I don't think Jonathan had a plan at all. Unless that plan was to get away from _you_. I don't think what all he said was for show. I think it was true.'

 _It doesn't matter that Jonathan is gone, because he knows what he's doing._

Cameron closed his eyes tightly, his nails digging crescent moons in the palms of his hands by now. He kept going where the guard was pushing him along to, and wisely he followed the man's example and kept silent. The longer they walked, though, the more strained his expression became, and the tighter his muscles grew. He tried to push away the other voice and hold tight to the other part of him. The part of him that had existed since he could first remember. That adored Jonathan and trusted him with his entire heart. That always looked up to him as if he was the older brother, even though they were twins. The part that knew without a doubt that Jonathan would never in a million years hurt him, in any way shape or form. He couldn't possibly doubt him. Not now. Not after everything they'd been through.

That's what he told himself, anyway. Over and over and over again, in the hopes that it would stick.

Winding through hallway after hallway that stayed just as dim and dreary as the one before it, they finally approached the cafeteria. Cameron could hear the rumble of voices before he saw it. His steps started to slow and hesitate the closer he got, and by the time he was actually crossing its threshold, he was hardly moving. The knot in his stomach got about twenty times tighter. Suddenly it was a lot less simple to just breathe normally. He felt like he used to get before shows, way back before he was comfortable in the spotlight, or in front of hundreds of people, let alone thousands. Nervous, and unsure, and pretty positive that he was going to make a mistake.

Apparently, the guard had had his fill of him. Which Cameron couldn't really blame him for, because at this point, he'd had a fill of himself as well— he just didn't have the luxury of throwing up his hands and walking away. Even though the sentiment was still kind of there. Without a single word – without the tiniest goodbye – he just turned and walked away, which left Cameron with an odd kind of jolting feeling that he imagined a kid would feel on their first day of kindergarten. But less of 'Mom, wait, where are you going?' it was more like 'I don't even know your name but please come back so I do not die.'

It wasn't the _perfect_ analogy. But he guessed if a kid was particularly anxious, the thought process would pretty much be the same.

He lingered there for ages, just staring like someone who had never even seen a cafeteria in the first place. He never had a first day of high school, or…well, a first day of any kind of school, that he could remember anyway. He and Jonathan were both homeschooled from the very beginning. Can't have something stupid like school getting in the way of tour dates, now could they? It explained two things: why Jonathan wasn't a social person at all (despite the more obvious reason of the fact that he wasn't supposed to exist, of course) and why Cameron had been so bad at it for so long, and was still pretty overbearing when it came to that department. They never really had any _wanted_ socialization aside from themselves for the better parts of their lives.

Which means they never had things like prom, or too-shy first dates, or figuring out homerooms, or picking out/running for homecoming court, and this: finding out where the heck to sit in a lunchroom they'd never been in before when they knew nobody here. Now, bear with the metaphor, because this was not at all the first day of high school as much as it was a moment Cameron wasn't even supposed to be having, in a room full of convicted felons, but analogies don't have to be perfect, do they? They just had to kind of fit, and though Cameron wasn't at all an expert on the subject, he imagined the feeling he had right now could be sympathized at least a little bit with the fourteen-year-olds that were just trying to eat their sandwich in peace.

He looked over the tables and the people that were already there, some sitting down and eating and some in line to get their food. He knew nobody. He was hoping he'd see at least a face he'd maybe seen during his visits, or maybe pluck a name out of the air that Jonathan had mentioned to him. But in the year, he'd been here, Jonathan hadn't ever name-dropped a single person that might be a shining beacon of at least somewhere to go. _So thank you, for that, and thank you for everything else happening right this very moment, because I appreciate it so much_. He had to take another deep breath to steady himself. To center his thoughts back to where they mattered.

He wasn't hungry, that was for damn sure. He wasn't really keen on asking if he could go anywhere else, or even asking if that was a thing he could do. He was guessing the answer would be no. Or it would be a large inconvenience to the man he'd apparently been a real trouble for up until this point. So, blinking a little faster than normal, Cameron resigned himself to taking the nearest empty seat. The other half of the table had a couple people sitting there, but this half was vacant, and he figured that meant it was a good spot to sit until he could figure out what the heck he was supposed to do.

Beyond the obvious. He couldn't call anyone. Not Dina, or Jordan— definitely not Gunter. He couldn't call Kay, either. They would start looking for Jonathan. And if he had a plan – _I don't think he has a plan, I think he ran away, I think he left me here, I think he wants me to rot here like he did, I think he wants to get back_ — then alerting them to the fact would ruin the entire thing. He'd ruined enough for Jonathan. He'd ruined this entire thing up to now. If Jonathan was doing something right this second, then he would only make it worse. He would only prove his brother's anger right. So no, he couldn't call anyone. That would ruin the whole thing.

So…he just…stayed here?

He didn't want to do that either.

Jonathan hadn't, though, and he had. Jonathan had the means the plans to escape – he said this fact more than enough times – but he never did. He stayed in here and let Cameron go out and try to solve things, staying as patient as possible with every failed attempt. Now…now it was just Cameron's turn to do the same thing. He would wait here and give Jonathan the chance to solve it all, and maybe he wouldn't have to wait long. It would only be a few days…in a few days, Jonathan would come back and visit him and he would say he was sorry, and a bunch of other things, probably. He would tell him that everything was fine and he was onto something, and if he just gave him a little bit longer, he would have the evidence to clear his name and this whole thing could be put behind them.

It would only be a couple of days, before he came back with an explanation and an apology.

Right?

Right.

Of course.

Seventy-two hours. It couldn't be more than seventy-two hours, he was sure of it. He could wait that long. There wasn't much to it, was there? Certainly not. Cameron had once spent a whole weekend at the childhood home of some girl, meeting every single member of her family, and during that entire time – and to this very day even – he hadn't actually known her name. If he could pull that off, this would be easy. Heck, this might even be less awkward than that had been. He just had to be patient. He just had to trust Jonathan.

At the last thought, he cringed, reaching up and rubbing at his injured cheek.

 _It doesn't matter that my brother left me here, because he's coming back._

 _It doesn't matter that Jonathan is gone, because he knows what's he's doing._

He took to staring down blankly at the table, finding that it was actually a very good pastime when compared with any alternative he had at his disposal. He stared through the table, not really seeing it in the first place, and he just stared. The only thing on his mind really being wondering how long lunch was so he could wonder how long he had to sit here. He was never good with sitting and doing nothing. He got too fidgety. Jonathan was the opposite— he always used to poke fun at him for the habit. But eventually something leaked through his awareness, and he realized something. Something that was probably fairly important.

People were staring at him. Openly. They weren't even trying to hide it.

Cameron could hear talking, too. Different than the regular buzz of conversation you would expect to hear in a cafeteria. He could hear hissing kind of whispers— hushed mutters that gave off the vibe of something more important than what was on TV tonight, or what your weekend plans were. Once he became aware of this change, Cameron picked up his head, his eyes flickering away from the table as he looked up instead. Sure enough, a majority of the room was looking in his direction. Some choosing more discretion than others. He managed to keep the blank look on his face, thankfully enough, but the knot got about twenty times tighter in the pit of his stomach. In his lap underneath the table, his hands clenched tight.

Did they see something different? It wasn't really a worry that Cameron had ever really had. When he was a kid he did— when they'd first started the whole charade, he was _always_ wondering whether they were pulling off the stunt, or if people could tell there was a difference between him and Jonathan. Eventually the worry had melted, and then it had all but vanished. But now, Jonathan was common knowledge. Everyone knew there were two Black twins, now. Did that mean it would be easier to anticipate a difference? Nobody had suspected for a single second, when he and Jonathan had switched places during the card trick earlier. Nobody had even batted an eye. How could these people be wiser? But if they weren't, then what in the world were they—

Something hit him. Cameron stiffened and jerked, startled as he reached up on impulse to get it off. There was the distinct sound of laughter as he did, and he looked down at his hands with a grimace to see that someone had decided the best use of their spaghetti would be as a missile straight to his face. It was a mess, all over him and all over the front of his shirt, and in his hair. When he realized this, the snickering around him only got louder. Practically burning with self-consciousness, Cameron looked up to try and see who had been the culprit but given everyone's equal attention and satisfaction it was impossible to tell. He just looked down and tried to scrub it off, his eyebrows pulling together in a strained flinch.

But the second he ducked back down, something else was thrown at him. And then something else, and something else. A tiny yelp escaped Cameron after the third handful of pasta hit him. He staggered and tried to fumble out of his seat, hunching over more and throwing his arms up in front of his face to try and shield it. He felt everything hit him— spaghetti, mashed potatoes, green beans, they all rained down on him in a giant mess. And as he stumbled and tried to get out of range somehow, everyone started yelling and slamming their hands down on the tables for background noise. Cameron's stomach dropped when he realized what they were calling out.

"Rat! Rat! Rat! Rat! Rat! Rat!"

"Alright, alright, alright, _hey_! _HEY_! Knock it off! Hey!" About twenty seconds too slow, one of the guards standing along the wall intervened. And it took a few more seconds after his shouting for the effect to finally take hold. Less and less food hit him until eventually it died off completely. When it did, Cameron was left standing in the cafeteria with a look on his face that must have come off as more stupid than astonished. Food was covering him from nearly head to toe. It was seeping through his clothes, and he kept trying to scrub it off, feeling like every single wipe only made it all worse somehow. Like he was just spreading the crap around instead of getting it off. They still kept hitting the table, their chanting breaking off now into laughter.

The guard was still angry. But as he stomped up and grabbed hard at Cameron's elbow, he wasn't sure who he was angrier at: the other prisoners, or Cameron himself. But he hadn't even done anything! "C'mon," the man growled, yanking on his arm to steer him for the exit of the cafeteria. "Alright!" he snapped louder, to everyone still jeering or hitting their table. "You made your point— _knock it off_ , unless you want a shot!"

"Better tell your cop friends!" someone yelled out in Cameron's direction.

"Why don't you go cry to the FBI!?"

"It's a better look for you than a badge!"

Cameron didn't react to any of the yelling, but his eyes were wide and hollow. He looked down at himself, now stained and covered in food. In the thick of the mess, someone must have thrown their drink on him, too. He remembered all the times he came to visit Jonathan and saw that he was sporting another bruise, or a scrape, or a cut. How he'd had a particularly nasty injury after he found out how to get into the museum for him from another prisoner. In retrospect, maybe getting food all over him wasn't such a bad thing. But still, he felt like he was going to be sick. The knot in his gut was only getting tighter, and as he was steered harshly away from the cafeteria to his cell, he had to make the conscious effort to remember how to breathe right.

When they were about halfway there, Cameron finally forced himself to speak. "Can—" He grimaced, trying to move to wipe at his shirt and get a particularly stubborn glob of potato off of him. But the guard was still holding onto him too tight to allow him to move that arm. The reach was awkward, but he knew that if he asked to be let go, it probably wouldn't go over well. But still… "Can I get…new clothes or something?" he asked. The guard didn't even look at him. He hesitated, but eventually tried again with a tiny cringe. "Can I have a change of clothes? …Or—?"

The guard suddenly stopped him in his tracks and turned to open the nearest cell. Jonathan's cell— another place that Cameron had never been to in the year he'd come to visit. Cameron hesitated, just staring at it with an expression bordering on nervousness. The guard wasn't interested in waiting, though, because he practically shoved him inside when he didn't immediately move. Cameron staggered, having to catch himself to keep from falling. Once he righted himself and turned, the man was already sliding the door closed.

"W-Wait!" he stuttered, inwardly cursing at how his voice came out sounding. He had to shake himself and make a purposeful effort to control himself back into that apathy Jonathan usually had. "Can I have a change of clothes?" he repeated, louder this time. He looked like a Picasso piece. He realized in that moment he had no idea how anything worked in here. Did he already have new clothes somewhere? Or did you always have to ask for new ones? When could he take a shower? Where was the shower, how did that even work, why hadn't he asked these questions before?

Well, that's a stupid question.

He shouldn't have _had_ to. This shouldn't be _happening_.

He waited for an answer anyway, his heart a little bit in his throat. But he wasn't given one. The guard looked him over with clear distaste for only a heartbeat, before he just turned and walked back the way he'd come. Going back the cafeteria and leaving him behind. "Wait!" Cameron called, rushing forward and trying to look after him, hooking his fingers in the bars of the cell. "Wait! I just—!" He bit back the yell, his shoulders drooping as he realized it was pointless. The blank look on his face melted now that he was alone, and his disappointment swamped forward instead.

He looked at the bars keeping him back, sorrow and remorse mingling in his stare now. Reluctantly, he took his hands back to himself, pulling his arms close to his chest instead as if he was cold and just trying to conserve some warmth. Slowly he turned, looking at the tiny space that his brother had occupied for going on more than a year, which was suddenly his now. It was smaller than he anticipated. A few tiny cubic yards of suffocation. He felt strange already, standing inside it. The close quarters just made it even worse.

He looked at the bed, and then back down at his clothes. His chest felt like someone was carving into it with a knife. It felt like his lungs were giving out. Like he was back in the vault, and the room was spinning, and he was going to fall, he was going to lose consciousness, he was going to pass out, he was going to— He started to sag to the side, but at the last second, he threw out his arm and caught himself on the wall. He didn't keep himself from falling, but he did slow it. He hit the ground with a soft thud, and from there he dragged his legs up to his chest and moved to hold his head in his hands.

He tried to keep himself breathing— in and out, even and slow. He closed his eyes tightly and just stayed where he was on the floor of Jonathan's cell, trying to calm himself down before he could get too worked up. He tried to talk himself away from the ledge. He tried to wipe all the food residue off of him and ignore the water that had officially soaked through his shirt. He tried to ignore how the entire side of his face was still stinging— how it had mutated into a deep-seated ache by this point. He tried to ignore the way his eyes began to sting when he remembered the angry look that had been on Jonathan's face. The indifferent anger that had been in his voice right before he'd struck him.

His breathing started to hitch, but he shook his head firmly against it.

No.

No, he wouldn't let himself.

He had to remember. He couldn't let himself forget.

 _It doesn't matter that my brother left me here, because he's coming back._

 _It doesn't matter that Jonathan is gone, because he knows what he's doing._

He told himself over and over again. Hoping one of the repetitions would finally make it cement.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He never got a change of clothes…but that was alright, he was kind of liking the splash of…color. He could ignore the smell and by now it was hardly damp or anything. It was fine, this was all fine. Mind over matter, and it _didn't even_ matter anymore— that's what Dad always used to say. Now wasn't exactly the best time to choose to dwell on advice given by Sebastian Black, of course, but at this specific moment in time, Cameron didn't really have too much else to work with. Beggars couldn't be choosers, and right now he was the epitome of a beggar.

But after a while he was let out of his cell and allowed outside. He hadn't realized how stuffy it was inside until he got back out. He'd just been outside a few hours ago, when he'd been on his way in to visit Jonathan in the first place. To break him out. But crossing the threshold and getting out into the fresh air was significantly more uplifting than he anticipated. Which somehow just made him guilty. Here he was, already wanting out of here so bad that he was grasping at this tiny straw. He'd only been here for a short amount of time. Jonathan had been here for more than year.

So surely him doing anything other than laying low for his brother in here was still wrong?

Seventy-two hours. He kept telling himself that. Already it had been like three or four, right? That made it just sixty-eight more hour, and then in four more hours it'd be sixty-four. If he thought about it – and he definitely was – then the stay was practically already over. He might as well be packing up already. Jonathan might as well be walking through the door right now. But…well, he wasn't right this second, so for now Cameron was just happy to be out here. It was more normal.

He still wasn't sure what he was supposed to— or where he was supposed to go. At least this time he knew that nobody at all would appreciate him trying to speak to them in any way at all. He knew enough from Jonathan to take his own advice. He'd always told him that all he needed to do in here was keep his head down and he would be fine. He couldn't really have done that in the cafeteria, considering they were just angry Jonathan had been out helping the FBI in the first place. Again.

He was on his fifth lap of the yard. Trying to focus on how cold it was, because at least then he was distracted enough not to think about anything else. He was looking outside of the fence, out towards the road as he tried to think of where Jonathan was, and where he was going. What he was going to do, so he could get back to him and sort this all out. Holding onto desperate hope that there was something up his sleeve. An ace, a club, he'd take anything. He'd _believe_ anything. Other than the worst.

He was listing everything possible that his brother could be doing. But after his seventh lap, he became aware of something else. His focus wavered away from the cold, when he heard a new voice over to the side. He picked his head up and wrenched his eyes away from the cement ground, and when he looked in its direction, he stiffened. There was a rather small group of people clumped near the back wall of the prison. A small semi-circle of four people was trapping someone against the secluded corner. The person speaking was at the forefront— it wasn't a hard leap to see that he was the leader. He was tall and overblown— taller than Cameron, and definitely more muscular (he'd always kind of lacked in that department). If Cameron was smart he would have kept walking.

But he was kind of always lacking in that department, too.

"I don't think you understand the position you're in," the leader was growling. Cameron's eyes narrowed. He slowly began to stop, and he leaned over to the side to try and see who was being pinned better. They looked considerably younger than he was. And clearly daunted by whatever this dude was saying. He looked scared— he was practically shaking as he kept his eyes trained on the ground. The look on his face made Cameron immediately bristle in anger. He started to veer over in their direction. The scowl only growing on his face.

"P-Please, I don't want any trouble," the cornered prisoner stammered. "I-I just— I don't want—"

"Oh, you don't want any trouble?" the leader asked scathingly. It shut the other up at once, and he cringed backwards. One of the others that were surrounding him reached over and gave a hefty shove to his shoulder. The younger yelped and flinched backwards. Cameron gritted his teeth and quickened his pace. "I don't want any either. So why don't you just—"

"Hey!"

Everyone turned immediately at Cameron's call, and the quick turnaround was enough to get his steps to slow the tiniest bit. But still, a nervous smile instinctually spread over his face. It was kind of his go-to whenever he realized what he was doing was a little bit stupid. So he often had this look on his face. In the moment, he wasn't even worried about the fact that Jonathan never did. "Hey," he repeated, the leader of this whole thing currently staring him down. "He don't, uh— we don't need to do this, do we?" he prompted. The younger prisoner was looking at him with huge eyes, shaking. Cameron flashed him a softer smile, brief and quick. They straightened. He looked back at the antagonist of the situation, and his smile turned cooler. "C'mon, we're already in prison, we don't need to make it any worse."

The man scowled. "I would keep walking if I were you," he growled.

Cameron kept himself steady. "Look, I'll keep walking when you leave that poor guy alone," he insisted. "I don't know what's happening, but let's not do something we'll regret. Something we'll _all_ regret— right?" He shook his head. "C'mon, just leave him alone," he encouraged. "I'm sure whatever it was isn't important enough to get into trouble over."

"I don't need some rat magician telling me what to do," the man spat. He turned and advanced on Cameron— his goons stepped closer together to meet in the middle and keep their victim trapped where he was. Cameron stayed where he was, though he stiffened a bit when the distance between them was shrunk. And he quickly looked off to the side when the man whipped something out of his pocket only to put it up close against Cameron's neck. It was a shiv— some scrap of metal that this guy had apparently taken the time to sharpen into a weapon. And pretty well, too. Though the compliment only came in the form of a nervous awareness. "I think. I would keep walking if I were you," he repeated, slower this time.

Cameron sighed through his nose. He closed one eye in a grimace but he looked back with a smile all the same. "I will," he offered. "If you leave him alone. Between you and me, I don't think anything is worth twenty more years. Now, I don't claim to know what trouble you've got going on with _him_ , but I know that if you stab _me_ and get that added time, that'd be a real slap in the face. It'd be kind of pointless. Because I just walked over here."

The man glowered at him. "Into a situation you know nothing about."

He shrugged. "Enlighten me," he invited. "Because right now I don't see a reason to bully someone that looks half your age." He hesitated before he tacked on: "Unless you're just really bored. And if you are, I'm sure those guys over there could invite you to play in their basketball game." He nodded towards the court, with a shrug. "Although I'm not too sure you're a real 'team player' you know what I'm sayin'?"

"Looks like you've already gotten into trouble once today," he spat, looking at Cameron's cheek which had slowly begun to bruise and blacken over. This was effective enough to wipe Cameron's smile away. His eyes flashed in pain, and his lips pressed tighter together as he looked away again. The prisoner smirked. "Now, unless you want a slice through your cheek instead, I'd suggest you shut the fuck up and walk the fuck away."

Cameron hesitated. His eyes flickered over to the victim again, and his hands clenched at his sides when he saw how scared they looked, still. And at the idea he might actually give into the intimidation and back off, they looked like they were ten seconds away from having a full-on breakdown. Cameron still had no idea what in the world was going on between them. But he did know that four against one wasn't fair odds at all. He was more than aware that he had just finished telling himself that he needed to keep his head down. And that this was quite literally the exact opposite of that. But right now he didn't care. He had been useless enough, up to now. He hadn't been able to help Johnny. This wasn't the same, but he couldn't turn his back on this person. Not peacefully.

"I think you should leave," Cameron said instead. And he held the man's stare even as it clouded with anger. "I think you should leave him alone, you should put that thing away, and you should give up on this entire thing. Because I'm not really in the mood to let it keep going." He raised his eyebrows, watching him expectantly. And waiting. For what he knew was probably going to come.

Sure enough, the swing came fast. Cameron barely had time to react at all. Right before the knife made contact, though, he ducked and weaved to the side, reaching out and grabbing hard to his arm as it swept by him. Before the unnamed prisoner could shake him off, Cameron twisted hard. The yank caused the man's hand to go slack for the briefest of seconds, which Cameron took to snatch the shiv away from him. The second he started to turn and rush for him, fury absolutely flooding his face, Cameron stuck out a foot and tripped him with a heavy kick. He hit the ground, and Cameron took a few steps back, his eyes narrowing. The second he started to turn to look at the prisoner who had needed his help in the first place, one of the others grabbed at him, trying to wrench him around.

He scowled and acted instinctually, jerking his elbow back and ramming it right into the other's stomach. They fell like a rock, and he turned to the next attacker, punching them in the face before they could do the same to him. Delivering the same exact blow that Jonathan had used to knock him unconscious. The knowledge put an unnecessary weight on his heart, and in the moment, his mind went blank for a heartbeat. He found himself freezing as they fell; he watched them collapse and felt an unexpected sense of intense guilt. If he was aware of himself and what was going on, he would have realized the guilt had nothing to do with the actual person. It was simply what he wished Jonathan had felt when he'd watched _him_ capsize. Nothing more.

But the hesitation was his own, and it was all the time that was needed for the last person to rush forward and catch him off guard. With Cameron looking the other way, they were able to swoop forward and deliver a hard punch directly to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him completely. His eyes flew wide and he doubled over at the waist— it was the perfect opportunity for the other to not only wrench the shiv back out of his hand, but to also punch him on the same side of his face that his brother had and knock him clear to the ground. He hit it with a dull thud, still struggling to make his lungs work again, and breathe. However, once he fell, the other goon had recovered and was there to deliver a kick to the same exact spot in his stomach. Making recovery impossible.

Cameron tried to get up and regain his upper hand, but the very second, he started to try, the leader was back up and he was there to stomp him back down. Cameron gagged as he made heavy contact with the pavement yet another time, and this time he was too disoriented to try and get up. Or he knew that if he tried, it would just be worse. The next phase was just trying to make sure that any injuries he got were minimal. He curled up as best he could, ignoring the pain wrapped tightly around his stomach. They kept kicking him, each one harder and angrier than the one that came before. By the time they stopped, he was biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from screaming.

Eventually they backed up, and Cameron cracked his eyes open, feeling like he was going to throw up. Before he could even do anything, though, a hard grip was latching around his arm. The leader of the group (at this point maybe Mystery just belonged in front of everyone's name— this could be Mystery Prisoner…sounded less 'superhero-y' than Mystery Man) dug his fingernails hard into Cameron's arm as he yanked him off the ground and forced him to meet his eyes. He looked furious. He had a scrape on the side of his face from falling, and Cameron might have felt a little success in that, had it not been for the fact that he probably looked a million times worse.

"You just made a terrible mistake," the man spat, Cameron cringing away groggily.

Still, for some reason he was still _literally_ the stupidest person on this planet. "Yeah, I got that part," he groaned, the words barely getting out in the first place. Given that he couldn't really breathe still, they were flimsy and barely there at all. But the guy was so close to him it didn't even really matter. "I think it really started to set in after the fifth kick…the eighth one might have been a little overkill, though," he wheezed.

The man scowled and shoved him back down to the ground. Cameron hit it with the tiniest of whimpers, but he kept his teeth as clenched as he could. "You think you've got some kind of immunity in here because you're the FBI's bitch," he snarled. Cameron wasn't listening so much as he was finally managing to get an actual gasp of air. It stung hard on its way down, like it was made of poison. But at least it was there. "You act like your shit smells better than everyone else's, and you put yourself places you don't belong." He crouched down over Cameron, and before Cameron could do anything to get away, he lined the shiv up against his neck, in clear warning. Cameron did absolutely nothing, just staring up at him tensely. "You walk around here like you own the place," the man growled. "Someone should teach you a lesson."

Cameron's breathing was still weak and hitched. His eyes flickered from the makeshift knife to the person currently holding it. For once he was wise, and he kept his mouth shut. But after a moment, he did look over to the side, where the younger man had been fenced in. He was gone, now. He must have run off in the thick of things. Without thinking, Cameron's lips twitched upwards in the tiniest of smiles, as he realized that he had successfully helped this person. It wasn't Jonathan— heck, he didn't even know his name, just like he didn't know the name of the person threatening him right now. But he'd helped _someone._ That had to count for something, right?

The man caught his smile and he followed his stare, realizing a second after Cameron that the target had gotten away. He scowled, and his fingers clenched tighter around the shiv he was still holding to Cameron's neck. The magician looked back and quickly wiped away his grin, remembering himself too late as he went back to Jonathan's blank expression. The man hesitated over him for a long stretch of time, like he was debating on what he should actually do. Cameron waited, every second putting a harder lump in his throat. It was only a handful of them, but it certainly seemed longer.

Until the man finally withdrew with a disgusted snort, and that look still on his face. He glanced at the others, who had been just standing there waiting. The one that Cameron had knocked out was recovered— he could take a punch better than Cam could, it seemed. All of them looked just as angry as their leader, but when he jerked his head, they all departed immediately. Anything more, and it would be a miracle if they would keep going unnoticed. But all Cameron was focused on was that they were leaving. It was a huge wash of relief, and he started to push himself up, grimacing deeply as his body immediately ached and screeched in pain. Every part of him felt like it was hurt.

The lesser ones were making off quicker, but at the last second, the leader of them looked back, scowling at first at the spot his victim had been in before Cameron had butted in, and then down to Cameron himself. By now he was sitting up, one arm propping himself there to make sure he wouldn't fall, and the other wrapped around his side gingerly. One eye was closed in pain, but he still looked up to meet his stare, and he found himself holding it. Something that he probably shouldn't have done, if he was thinking. Not that he wasn't thinking, but he was thinking about all the wrong things.

He was thinking about how his brother had left him without a single word, other than "I don't want to escape with you." He was thinking about how he was stuck here until Jonathan either came back or— _don't say it don't say it it's not true don't think it_. How he was still covered in the mess of food from this morning, and he still had no idea what he was going to do about it because he wasn't even sure he could do anything about it. How he was getting yelled at and judged for something he didn't even do, that he wasn't even the person everyone thought he was and everything they were thinking about him wasn't even applicable and how _this is exactly what Jonathan must have thought every single day of his entire life because he had forced him to be someone he wasn't for his own personal gain because he was too stupid to see how much he was hurting._

He was thinking plenty, he just wasn't thinking about anything that would help.

So before he even really knew what he was doing, he was growing angry. Worked up, at himself, but letting it come out to someone else on accident. He found his eyes narrowing just the tiniest bit as he stared at the man that had knocked him to the ground, anger flashing raw over his face. Sure enough, the man's rage only seemed to multiply. It looked like he was five seconds away from abandoning wherever he was going to go and just doubling back to him, to put that shiv right through his chest.

But he didn't. He just scowled hard, something changing in the very back of his gaze. And he turned on his heel to keep walking. He left Cameron behind, still sitting on the ground because he felt too sick to get up the rest of the way. Cameron closed his eyes tightly and exhaled, hanging his head and trying to collect himself.

Trying not to get too angry at himself for messing everything up.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It got dark at night. Which was obvious. But it was also lonely.

He tried to count the positives. It had been twelve hours…that meant that there was only around sixty left before Jonathan came back…or at least got into touch with him. He could call him— maybe he was going to call him instead. But either way, there weren't as many hours as there _had_ been. And he was given a new set of clothes to wear that _wasn't_ covered in lunch, so that was good too. And now he could sleep, so that was good too, because he was exhausted.

But it seemed like he was too exhausted to sleep. Or maybe he was just too busy thinking about all the negatives that vastly outweighed the positives. Aside from the most obvious fact that Jonathan still hadn't called him and that with every passing hour he was starting to weaken in his denial more and more, and wonder if he really did have something up his sleeve, or whether he was just screwing him over because he had the right to. Aside from that one— which was a big one. But there were others that just stacked on top of it and made it all even worse.

His body felt like one giant bruise. Every movement, even just breathing, hurt. He'd stopped trying to find a comfortable spot in bed, not only because he was just starting to assume that there wasn't one to begin with, but also because the simple act of twisting made him hiss and cringe. He was starving…but just the thought of food made him want to vomit. He hadn't eaten lunch, and he hadn't even gone back to the cafeteria for dinner, he'd just gone back to his cell. And he'd stayed there up until now…he was pretty sure it was midnight. It had to be, going by how dark it was. And how cold.

Cameron was laying in bed, his heart heavy and his eyes slowly beginning to sting, the longer he stared at the wall opposite him. He tried to reassure himself. Like he had been ever since he'd gotten back inside. Trying to persuade himself that everything would turn out okay and that Jonathan still had his back, wherever he was. That he was doing the right thing here, and that he would get through it somehow. He could do it for Jonathan. He owed him that much. Right?

He closed his eyes tightly, feeling a tear trace down the side of his cheek. He quickly reached up and swiped it away, biting down on his bottom lip to ignore the pain that went down his sternum when he did. He turned his head away into the pillow that felt more like plastic than anything else. The blanket wasn't doing much at all for warmth either, and every time he shivered it caused even more pain to lance up his body. All the same, he buried away into the pillow, bringing the blanket up over his nose and cringing hard as he tried to see whether or not he could smell Jonathan and try and fool himself into thinking he was just back home.

 _Jonathan has a plan. He always has a plan. He had a plan for the freaking Empire State Building._

 _He wouldn't leave me back here. He wouldn't. He couldn't._

 _He loves me. He still loves me._

 _It doesn't matter that my brother left me here, because he's coming back._

 _It doesn't matter that Jonathan is gone, because he knows what he's doing._

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He felt even worse the next morning. He'd managed to fall asleep sometime around three in the morning, but everyone was forced to get up at six. Because apparently that's the only proper time there is to eat your Frosted Flakes. Which Cameron would have killed for, because whatever it was that was on all the trays looked more like vomit than it did actual food. Coincidental, because that's all he wanted to do. He skipped breakfast again, taking instead to a seat in the far corner and hoping that nobody would even look in his direction. And mostly that there wouldn't be a repeat of lunch from the day before.

He was exhausted, and he was sore. He was tired physically and mentally, and he just wanted to go home. He wanted Dina to greet him with coffee like she always did, and he wanted to see Jordan stagger downstairs at noon because he finally decided to get himself up. He wanted to listen to Gunter rant about the latest political scandal, and snicker about how worked up he got, because he was always worked up. He wanted to get a call from Kay— to see the word 'Partner' light up his phone screen and know it was because she needed his help with some case. He wanted to see Jonathan sitting at the kitchen with a coffee mug in one hand and a book in the other and see him look up from the page only long enough to flash him a welcoming smile.

He wanted his old life back. He didn't want this.

 _That's how Jonathan's felt every day for the past year. And that's why he stuck you here._

Cameron closed his eyes tightly. He felt them start to burn all over again. Felt his throat swell.

He looked up from the table in just enough time to catch movement in front of him. It was the person from the yard— the young prisoner that had been harassed. Cameron straightened a little bit, his face falling. The young man had a whopping black eye, and a wrapping of gauze around his arm. He was limping a little bit, and the look on his face was something that hurt Cameron to even look at. Like every scrap of hope had been drained out of him and he was left with absolutely nothing. They must have felt Cameron's stare on them because they roused and turned to meet it.

Out of habit, his expression pulled into one of concern. He tilted his head to the side, and the silent question might as well have been screamed. 'Are you alright?' To hell with whether or not Jonathan would have done the same. He knew that he wouldn't have. Jonathan probably wouldn't have even tried to help in the first place. But Cameron couldn't bear to see the look on this person's face. He didn't even know their name and yet he knew that much. But at the look, they only seemed to weaken all the more. They wilted and crumbled…before Cameron could get up and walk over to them – because the idea was certainly there – they were quickly turning away. Their expression crumbled even more and they ducked away without getting any food. Cameron lost track of them.

His face fell even more. His eyebrows drew together and his hands fisted tightly on his knees. He was about to get up and try to give chase – it wasn't like he was doing anything else, and he wanted to be sure they were okay – when he became aware of something else. The distinct feeling that someone was staring at him, and when he turned towards the pressure, he found himself locking eyes with the man that had threatened him yesterday. That had likely been the reason for those injuries on the younger boy. He was sitting a few tables away, but he was staring coldly at Cameron without a single blink. The look on his face was too difficult and foreign for Cameron to describe, but it made his blood run a little colder than what was normal. It made him stiffen, and even more so when he realized all the people that had been backing the man up yesterday were staring at him in the exact same way.

Cameron's chest constricted and the knot in his stomach grew ever tighter. He had to drag his eyes away from them all and force them to fix solely on the table instead. He felt angry and indignant, but mostly he just felt like he was way in over his head. Helpless and confused, like he had been when he'd turned to Kay in the office and announced that maybe some people just got away with everything, no matter what. That maybe there was never a point. He was starting to think that was truer and truer. Or maybe he was just the problem. Maybe he was just shit at trying to help when it came to anything, because he had all the failures to back it up. Mystery Woman…this younger man who looked like he hadn't even done anything wrong…maybe even his own brother.

Maybe, when it came down to it, the other person wasn't the problem.

Maybe it had nothing to do with whether or not they were too cunning, or too smart.

Maybe he was the problem.

Maybe he was just useless.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He got the opportunity for a call. He held the phone in his hand for what felt like forever, wracking his brain on who to contact. Because he wanted to call everyone. He wanted to call Dina and listen to her complain about something and smile because she called him 'Darling' which he'd never really addressed outwardly before, but always made him feel warm inside. He wanted to call Jordan and listen to him tell some long-winded joke that wasn't funny at all in its punchline or listen to him say something stupid and be totally oblivious to it. He wanted to call Gunter and listen to him tell him how stupid he was and how it was a good thing his head was connected to his shoulders otherwise he'd lose it. He wanted to call Kay and ask her if she was alright. If she was happy.

But he knew who he wanted to call more.

He called himself.

He called his cellphone and he waited tensely with every ring. Every ring, and he waited for it to be picked up. He waited to hear Jonathan's familiar voice, for something to tell him he was in the right here. And with every passing ring, his hope died more and more, until he was simply met with his own voicemail. A bright and bubbly plea to please call back later because I'm too busy to answer the phone right now. Hearing the canned recording caused his heart to twist and pull in severe pain. He closed his eyes and leaned forward to press his forehead into the wall. He cringed and reached up to pull the phone even closer to his ear. Some part of him wanted to just hang up. And hang up as hard as he could. Take the phone and slam it down on its holder as hard as he could— break it, even, if that was even possible.

But he didn't. He waited until the ending of the message. For the tiny pause, and then for the tiny beep.

When he opened his eyes again, his vision was blurred through a sheen of water. His lips trembled as he listened to the radio silence on the other end. Hoping that Jonathan would still answer. That he was there, and he hadn't actually left him alone. And again, his wheel desperately tried to turn. _He's doing something right now. He's talking to MW, he's pulling off whatever trick he has up his sleeve, and he just can't talk. He can't give himself away, that's why he isn't answering. He saw me call, he just couldn't answer, but he wanted to, he_ wanted to _, he's thinking about me right now, and he's regretting what he had to do, and he's promising himself that he'll finish this even sooner, and that—_

"I…uh…" He cleared his throat, barely even whispering into the receiver. The smile that traced over his face was watery, and wavering. Conveying nothing but sadness. But he still forced a tiny laugh out as he edged even closer to the wall. Practically cowering against it. "Sorry, I just— I had a question," he managed, his voice hitching. He coughed again. Still only getting silence. "And I guess…you don't have to answer, I guess…I'm not going to get an answer, because—" Words failed him. His voice got higher and higher until it gave out and he flinched, his expression crumbling for just a second.

He took in a large gasp and smiled again as he snapped his eyes open. "Because I don't know how this works!" He tried to pass this off into another laugh, but it was more like a sob. He shook his head and swallowed hard. "Sorry," he chuckled. "I don't…I mean, I did have a question though, a tiny…not really important one, so if you're busy…" He kept smiling, wider and wider, and somehow it just made his sorrow all the clearer.

And sure enough, his voice was practically in pieces when he whispered next: "I was just…going to ask how long you've hated me," he croaked. He paused again, like he was waiting for Jonathan to answer him. To at least give him this. But nothing came. He nodded, still grinning. "Sorry, it's— like I said, it's not…I was just wondering." He sniffed and reached up to wipe at his eyes, his shoulders hunching like he was in pain. "Where…it was exactly I messed up, because…apparently that's all I do. So…that's a new…thing for me, in case you were…wondering what I'm up to. 'Cause I've been wondering what you're up to."

Listening to the silence just made it worse. It just made more tears rush forward, and it just made breathing harder. Cameron ducked his head and held it in his hands. He gasped another inhale and pleaded under his breath: "I'm…I'm staying here for— for you…please don't…please don't actually be doing this." He flinched again, and he shook his head fast. "Please don't actually be doing this," he repeated. "I know I messed up, I know you deserve more— I know you've _always_ deserved more, but I just—"

'Thank you for leaving a voicemail! If you are satisfied with your message, please hang up! If you would like to re-record your message, please press one!'

Cameron looked up, gasping again. He was frozen. His chest yawned with pain, and another tear traced down his cheek. For a while he just listened to that dead silence, knowing it was all he was going to get. Knowing that there was nothing on the other end. No hope of an answer, no reassurance that everything was going to be okay. No Jonathan. He wasn't there. He had his phone – Cameron _knew_ he had his phone, he was one hundred percent certain – but he didn't answer him. And the knowledge may as well have been another kick to his stomach.

He didn't say anything. He couldn't even breathe.

All he could do was turn around and numbly hang up the phone.

Stare at the bricks as they smeared in his vision more and more and try to keep himself from breaking down right in that hallway.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He had a visitor. He had no idea who it was. He was just told he had one.

And he had very quickly declined them.

Apparently, that was a right he had. "No, I don't want a visitor," he'd rasped to the guard who came for him in the first place. For good measure, he'd even said: "Please. I don't…really feel like talking to anyone. Right now." Of course, the guard hadn't given one single crap. He hadn't even really needed the second part; he just shrugged and took it, walking back the way he'd come to take the news back to whoever was about to be rejected. Some part of Cameron wanted to follow, if only just to see who it was who'd come. Maybe just a tiny glimpse of them…maybe it would help make him feel better. Just to see.

But he told himself no. He knew himself better than that; he knew that if he saw anyone he'd have an even harder time keeping up the guise. He'd mess up, or they'd see right through him. Dina and them always knew how to tell them apart. They'd tested them one morning, just to see if they could pick up on their switch. It had taken a couple hours, but they had. And in here, they'd probably take one look at Cameron and know it was him. That was just if Jonathan wasn't back with them. Which Cameron wasn't sure that he was anymore.

There was only one visitor he wanted, and he'd asked, as soon as the guard came to fetch him.

"Is it my brother?"

"No." That was where the explanation had ended.

But Cameron hadn't really wanted any more information. It'd just hurt worse than the 'no' had. If that was even possible.

He didn't eat lunch or dinner. He was shaky and weak now, but still the thought of food just made him ill. And he was sure forcing whatever slop they were offering would just make him do it immediately. So he didn't bother with it. What he did do was try and find that younger prisoner again. It was all he had at the moment. He literally had nothing else in the moment at hand. He wanted to find him and make sure he was okay, maybe offer to help in some way if that was even something he could do. This was something for him to do. Something to focus on so he didn't go crazy or spiral, both of which he was at serious risk of doing right about now.

After dinner, everyone was kind of allowed to go wherever they wanted. Or…probably not wherever they wanted, but Cameron had no idea where they were supposed to go if there was an assigned place. He'd holed himself up in his cell yesterday. But he couldn't find that younger guy hiding out in the corner. He had to figure out where he might have wandered off to. He hadn't seen him in the cafeteria at all for the rest of the day. So once dinner was through and everyone split off, Cameron brought to mind the layout of the building and set to trying to find him.

He kept Kay's voice in his mind.

'Are you done?'

He could feel sorry for himself somewhere else, but not here. Not in headquarters, and not in here. He had to concentrate, and he was going to concentrate on this. He walked through the halls and kept to himself, knowing by now that was the best course of action. He kept an eye out for the other prisoner – the one with the shiv – but mostly he was just trying to keep track of where everything was, and marking them off when every location came up empty. It was a no on commissary. Nope for the gym, too. Hard pass at the lower level bathrooms. Nada in the kitchen. Every attempt was met with absolutely nothing, but by this point the failure had kind of lost its sting.

 _Nice try, universe, but you've literally_ fucked me over _too many times to have this one hurt, too._

Eventually he found him. He was in one of the common rooms, playing checkers. Or…he wasn't playing checkers so much as he was setting up the game over and over again. The instant Cameron found him, he lit up like a Christmas tree, because that was literally where he was in terms of emotional gain. But all the same he let himself inside and skirted around the other inmates until he could stop at the table. "Hey," he greeted, and though his voice was a normal level, the younger immediately went into a spasm of shock, their eyes flying wide and their head snapping up instantly. Cameron was rushing to apologize. "Oh— oh, no, I'm sorry, I didn't— didn't mean to sneak up on you, I'm sorry." He offered him a bright smile. The younger said nothing; he just stared at him tensely. They were completely rigid, like they were ready to dash off if they needed to.

Cameron blinked a few times, before he looked down at the board. "You need a partner?"

They looked down. Their voice was a mere mumble when they replied. "I'm just setting it up."

Cameron paused. He nodded once. "Okay," he said simply. "That's fine." Hesitant, the other started to go back to arranging it all. But his movements were slow, and he kept glancing at Cameron like he was fit to snap and shove him off his chair. He let a few seconds pass in silence before he cleared his throat. "Listen, I was…just wanting to make sure you were alright," he tried. It was difficult to ignore the strange look the other flashed him. "I…saw you this morning," he reminded. "And you looked a little…worse for wear."

"I'm fine," they objected softly. When he reached out, Cameron saw there was blood in the gauze on his arm.

He studied the board. The crisscrossing squares, alternating and organized. He leaned in a bit closer and lowered his voice. "It's okay not to be okay," he proposed. Again, they threw him a nervous look. Their eyes flickered around to all sides, like they were trying to make sure that there wasn't anyone listening in on them. It just made Cameron even more pained. "I'm sorry," he said, and they went even stiffer. "I tried to help you yesterday, but…apparently I wasn't much help." He paused before he prompted: "Did that guy do this?"

"Please stop," they begged in nothing more than a hiss.

"What's his name?" Damn it all to hell if he didn't know _this_ person's name.

"Leave me alone," he implored.

"Look, nobody deserves to feel like they're stuck. Like they're…hunted down like some kind of animal. You don't deserve this; I want to help you," Cameron pressed. They grimaced and ducked away. "Let me help you. You think he should be able to feel like he's got the whole world in his hand? He's a bully. And he looks like he can't even tie his own shoes. That's probably why he's got so many people behind him— he needs one person for each shoe. And then a backup if _that_ guy can't do it, because they all look like a sketchy bunch." This got a tiny smile to crack over their face. And a brilliant one to spread over Cameron's. "I've dealt with people ten times worse than him," he insisted. "And I've come out on top every…" His eyes flashed. He looked down and drummed a hand on the table. "Nine times out of ten, I've come out on top," he amended, a bit weaker. "Let me get you out of this mess."

They smiled for a few more seconds. Before it fell from their face and they looked back down. "There's no use in fighting Decker," they mumbled. "I've tried. There's no point."

"Decker," Cameron echoed. He pursed his lips and nodded once. "That is a pretty stupid name."

Again, there was a smile. Every time he managed to conjure one, Cameron felt a rush of success. "Stupider than Jonathan Black?"

Cameron's smile fractured. He cleared his throat. "So you've heard of me."

"Everyone has," they murmured. "I mean…you have a…reputation."

"You'd be surprised at what people end up doing instead," Cameron offered, weaker. He took in a deep breath and shook his head. "How about you tell me your name?" he prompted. "Seems unfair you know mine and I don't know yours."

A pause. Then: "Sawyer."

"What's Decker's problem with you, Sawyer?"

Sawyer quieted. His face fell and he looked down at the table. Uncomfortably, he hugged himself. Cameron's chest tugged as he realized that tears were watering their way to life in his eyes. It caused Cameron's to narrow and his expression to pull in concern. He gave Sawyer time to speak, but eventually he just shook his head. "I don't know," he croaked, and he moved a red checker piece into place. Cameron watched intently. "But it doesn't matter," he repeated. "There's nothing I can do about it. There's no way out. It's impossible."

He sat there for a moment or two, silently contemplating. Looking at the cut on the young man's arm, and the bruises that littered his skin like sprinkles. He had no idea what he'd done to get here. He looked young. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it wasn't. But it was clear by the look on his face that he'd more than done his time. There was no telling how long it had been that this had been going on. The resignation on his face seemed to speak volumes. Cameron blew out his cheeks. He resigned himself to it, and the smile grew back over his face again.

Sawyer stopped short, confused as he looked over the board. All the pieces were arranged, but there was a black piece missing. He started to turn back up to Cameron, maybe to ask him once more to leave him alone. When he stopped short as Cameron leaned over and reached out. Sneaking a hand behind his ear and pulling back to reveal the missing checker pawn. His eyes flashed, confusion and amusement mingling on his face. Cameron flashed him a smirk, playing the thing over his fingers expertly as he sat back and declared: "Nothing's impossible."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was a shock to wake up in the morning to an escaped prisoner.

Really? Someone _escaped_ last night? No _way_ — that's impossible. This is prison, that's the _opposite_ of this place's goal! That's so unfortunate. And who was it? Him? Really? Hm. Nobody expected _that_ , did they? Cameron Black certainly didn't, no sir, not at all. But there it was: Inmate Sawyer Johnson had escaped their lovely little prison during then night, and they were really worse for wear of it. There will now be a Sawyer-sized hole in everyone's heart, that's for sure. But live and let live. That's his motto. Right up next to 'Nothing's Impossible.'

Cameron was quietly on cloud nine. He'd done something good. He'd managed to make someone's life better, not worse. He'd written it all out for Sawyer, down to every last little step. The exact plan he was going to use to help Johnny leave. Or, one of them, anyway. He had multiple. This one was just the one that Sawyer was most likely to be able to pull off by himself on the fly. And apparently it worked. Cameron had never been so happy to wake up to a blaring siren, before. He'd never been so happy to be put on lockdown, and to see all the officers rushing this way and that trying to figure out where in the world one of their prisoners had gotten off to.

On the inside, he was celebrating, but on the outside, he remained as blank as he could. Until lunch rolled around. They were all on lockdown still, because of course Sawyer had not yet been found – spoiler alert, he would continue to not be found, if Cameron's well-drawn out plan had anything to say about it – but they were all still shepherded down for meals. Not that Cameron was any hungrier than he usually was. But he was starting to feel even sicker, so the temptation was actually there to eat something this time. But standing in the cafeteria waiting for the chance, Cameron once again felt someone staring at him, and he turned to see that Decker was trained on him again.

He looked completely enraged, like he was fit to kill. He was staring right at Cameron. Again, not even blinking. At first, Cameron wasn't sure what to do. He probably should have just ignored him and looked back front. Minded his own business. But he didn't. Instead, he gave him a brilliant smile, and he raised up his hand in a nonchalant wave. Decker's face twisted in even more range, but Cameron was already turning away. He'd helped Sawyer; that was the end of it. That was all he'd wanted from the very beginning.

Nothing else mattered.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

How many hours had it been? He tried counting them. It had to be…near forty-eight, right? Somewhere around there? He didn't know, he didn't have a clock. It made it kind of hard to discern. However much time had passed, he was still here, and Jonathan still hadn't even called, or answered his phone. Much less come in to apologize about what he'd done. Cameron was doing the best he could in here, but it was only getting harder. He'd managed to choke around seven bites of something down at lunch, but that was around his limit. Now he was just wandering around trying to figure out what he should do until he had to return to his cell. He hated that he was starting to figure out the schedule and actually organize it. He hated this entire situation.

What would be his breaking point?

If seventy-two hours passed and there was still nothing…what then? Was he still supposed to wait?

The only answer to his questions were his own footsteps echoing back to him.

He was alone, but it didn't really count, considering his thoughts were more than enough unwanted company.

As he walked, he got slower, his expression becoming more clouded.

He wanted to go home…

And it would be easy, wouldn't it? A simple scan of his fingerprints— bam, he's out. That would be all it took. And maybe he could convince Kay not to set out a manhunt for Jonathan. They could go find him together— him and her! And the rest of the team, of course. Jonathan had been given enough time to establish something, if he really did have some secret plan— if Cameron left right now, there might just be a chance of it all working out regardless. He'd called Jonathan, twice now, and twice he had given him the opportunity to explain himself. And if there _was_ no plan, then didn't that mean Cameron had to get out as soon as he could? To help track his brother down before he did something he'd regret?

Cameron didn't want to believe Jonathan was actually siding with MW. But if he was…

Maybe he didn't have to wait seventy-two hours. Maybe forty-eight was enough.

He came to a stop, his heart heavy in his chest. His shoulders hunched.

He couldn't keep waiting. He couldn't. He needed answers, and if Johnny wasn't going to give him any…

Who would he even talk to about that? Just walk up to some random officer? 'Sorry, I know it's been a couple days, I just thought I should let you know that I'm the wrong twin. Please don't scream at me, because I'm also the sensitive one.' That'd really hold up. But they couldn't just ignore him, right? They had to at least—

Something hard made heavy contact with the back of his head, cutting his thoughts off completely.

He barely even had time to register the pain before his eyes were rolling back into his head, and his knees were buckling out from underneath him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

When he came back to, he was lying on his side. It took a second for him to drag himself awake in the first place, but when he did, it took even longer for him to get his bearings. He had no idea where he was; he'd never been in here before. It looked like some kind of bigger supply closet. With brooms and mops and a shelf of stuff like bleach lined up on the other side of the room. Cameron roused and tried to push himself up, before he realized that was impossible. Well— he realized two things. One being that both his hands and ankles were restrained. Two: he had duct tape fixed over his mouth. He could only breathe through his nose. And that was nearly impossible to do properly once you start to panic like he did.

"You're awake." The voice was flat, but Cameron recognized it immediately. His eyes narrowed as he twisted his neck to see Decker lounging against the wall. He tried to get up, but someone standing behind him stomped down hard on his shoulder, forcing him back down with a cry of pain. He scowled into the floor as Decker continued smoothly. "I don't appreciate when things go wrong, Mister Black." Cameron seethed, setting to work on getting his hands free. They were tied in front of him, so it was less undetectable than he'd like. But still, he started automatically. "And I don't appreciate it when people put their nose where it doesn't belong."

Cameron was almost done untying. He could worry about his ankles later, if he could just—

He screamed against the tape on his mouth as another foot came down on his hands the second he got them loose, even harder. Pain made his blood run hot, and his eyes close tightly. The shoe stayed down hard, planting there to pin his hands against the floor. Trying to fight it would just make it hurt more. Decker went on like nothing happened. "You've been a problem in my prison for too long, Jonathan Black," he mused. Cameron flinched. "Talking to the FBI…stealing weapons back for other prisoners…helping people escape…you think this is your prison. You think you're on top. But you're sorely mistaken." He stomped closer, and Cameron scowled up at him, fighting to take in enough air. Decker's eyes were dark and angry. "It's my prison," he growled.

"You can have it," Cameron tried to say. But the words were lost behind the tape.

Decker ignored him. "But now the FBI doesn't need you anymore. Your little palace is being taken away…along with all your trips out and about. You don't have any more protection, and yet you're still causing trouble. You're still messing things up, just like you were before." Whoever was standing on his hands pushed down on them even harder, grinding them into the floor, and Cameron screamed again. Decker crouched so he was more level with him. Cameron's eyes were watering, but he still glared daggers at him. "I've been waiting for you to wise up on your own, but it seems like I have to teach you a lesson, now."

The shoe removed itself from Cameron's hands, but as soon as it did, Decker grabbed his right one and yanked it out so his arm was straight, the force behind it nearly dislocating his shoulder. "You should know by now, Jonathan, that there's no room for snitches in a prison," he growled, and Cameron started to hyperventilate as Decker lined up his knife against his skin. He tried to twist and break free, but too many hands were suddenly on him, keeping him flush against the ground. "I heard you were asking Sawyer about me last night— were you wanting to offer your friends at the FBI some information?" Cameron shook his head fast, but the effort was useless. "Maybe I should give you a little bit more to tell them," he went on to muse. "Or maybe this can be your warning to keep quiet for once."

"I'm not Jonathan, _I'm not Jonathan_!" he was trying to scream. But it was intelligible.

Decker wasn't listening anyway. And Cameron's screams heightened in volume and desperation when he pressed down on the knife, digging down into his arm. Cameron screeched as Decker started to drag the blade down through his skin, carving into him like he was a pumpkin on Halloween. Blood was quick to gush out, hot as it ran down over his wrist to the floor. His body went into spasms of pain as he desperately tried to wrench himself free and yank his arm away from the knife. Decker cursed under his breath and as soon as he did, one of his goons kicked out and caught Cameron directly in the forehead. It scattered his brain immediately, and he sagged, the shock from the blow enough to render him still for a brief period of time.

Decker finished in this time, and when Cameron dragged his head back forward, expression disoriented and unfocused, his stomach immediately heaved. He felt like he was going to puke. Blood was everywhere, and it only kept coming. It was practically covering the entire lower half of his arm, already. He could barely see anything under it, but given how ragged the wound was, he could make it out. The pain was already making his head fuzzy, but he could see a sloppy 'S' that had been carved into place. He closed his eyes and groaned, another wave of sickness crashing against him. The tiniest twitch of his fingers made his entire limb screech in agony.

Decker was watching him with undisguised delight. "How's that for a memento?" he crooned.

Cameron was dizzy. He felt like the entire room was spinning. He was losing too much blood too fast. Something else intelligible leaked out of his mouth. He wasn't sure it would have made sense even if he hadn't had the tape on. The others were snickering, entertained by the sight. And at Decker's command each one of them grabbed onto Cameron and forced him up. They yanked him into a sitting position and shoved him back against the wall. His eyes were half-lidded by this point. Dully, he was staring ahead trying to keep his head on straight. Mind over matter. If you didn't mind it, it didn't matter. He tried to come back to himself. To get out of this. There was always a way, there was always a way out— nothing was impossible, nothing was—

"I know you were the one who helped Sawyer escape," Decker proposed, slowly following so he could still stand in front of him. Cameron's head started to dip forward; he had to force it back. Force his eyes to stay open. "You thought you could get the better of me. But like I told you before, Rat…you made a terrible mistake. And I think you're going to pay for that right now." Cameron tried to bring his legs up more to his chest, so he could push down and maybe get up to his feet somehow. But the effort was too misguided. He couldn't manage it. "I think it's only fair you replace him."

Cameron tried to stand again, and this time he almost got it. But someone else quickly shoved him back down. Another stomped hard on his arm, right on the 'S' and twisted the toe of their shoe hard. It almost made him pass out on the spot. His throat was going hoarse from screaming. Tears were rushing down his face, and his expression contorted in agony as his back arched. Like electricity was shooting through every inch of him.

Decker drew back and stood. His next instruction was stiff. "Get him on his knees."

This snapped Cameron right into motion. His eyes flew open the very second, he was being grabbed again, and despite the fact his throat was already raw, he started screaming even louder than he had before. " _No_!" he shrieked, forcing himself to start thrashing and flailing the second they started to force him up. " _No! Stop! I'm not Jonathan! I'm not Jonathan, I'm Cameron! I'm Cameron, I'm not supposed to be here! Stop! Stop! Stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstop—_ " He was cut off with a kick to the stomach. A kick hard enough not only to stun his lungs, but enough to send him slamming back down to the ground. Before he could even wail in pain, there were more kicks and punches. Enough to bring him on the verge on unconsciousness— he was almost there, almost there, he was close, he was—

They stopped right before the blackness could swarm his vision entirely. He was trapped in a haze of pain. When they pulled him up again, he couldn't fight them. His head drooped forward as they forced him to kneel. Someone else wrenched his head up by his hair, and the tape was ripped off his mouth. He didn't even notice the stinging it left behind— the rest of his pain was too great in comparison. Blood immediately gushed out of his mouth as he choked and spluttered weakly. He was swaying back and forth unsteadily. Decker grabbed him by the chin and yanked his head up to look at him. Cameron could hardly even see anything. "You're not in charge here," he growled. "And you'll take what I give you."

He tried to get his lips to move. "'Mmmm not—" Blearily, he cringed. His mind was too scattered. All he could land on was a pathetic: "Please."

But there was no way out.

It was impossible.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He hurt.

He couldn't move.

He was stuck here.

He didn't even know if he was still bleeding. He didn't care anymore. He just knew it still hurt. Just like everything else did. They left him on the ground, having the decency to stop and untie his ankles as they did. He wasn't even sure when that had been— he might have lost consciousness once or twice in the meantime. Or maybe he'd just stared into the dark and just couldn't tell the difference. It was ages before he could force his body into motion. Before he could weakly push himself up to his feet, his arms trembling with the effort and his right one screaming as it was forced to hold weight. He managed it. Cameron got up to his feet and started to stumble forward, holding his stomach because he was five seconds away from vomiting.

He felt along with one hand until he could grab the doorknob of the closet. Until he could stagger out into the hallway. And head blindly in one direction, because he had no idea where he was. In the moment, he couldn't think clearly. It was all he could do to just put one foot in front of the other and try not to gag with every step. He was crying, not even trying to hide it like he had when he was at the phone trying to call Jonathan. He had to find the nearest wall and lean against it as he walked— his legs were refusing to support him properly. Shock was setting in, and it was setting in hard. Nothing made sense. He tripped and stumbled more and more the further he walked. The entire place was spinning like a top. He kept trying. But eventually it was too much and he fell.

He hit the ground hard. He stared to push himself up, but as soon as he did, his shoulders curled sharply, and his body pitched forward. It finally caught up to him – the sickening feeling he'd had this entire time – and he vomited. Weakly, he choked and gagged, only able to force out mostly water. He wished there was more, though. Even when there was nothing left to give, he still spluttered like there was, attempting to force out absolutely everything. Once it passed though, he couldn't hold himself up anymore, and he collapsed, his head ringing where it had been kicked. He went numb and limp. Lifeless. He was fading into unconsciousness – _it's all I want, please let me, please just let me_ – but weak sobs still bubbled out of his hoarse throat.

His thoughts were a mess. Disjointed. Crazy.

 _It doesn't matter that my brother left me here, because he's coming back._

 _It doesn't matter that Jonathan is gone, because he knows what he's doing._

 _It doesn't matter that my brother left me here, because he knows what he's doing_

 _It doesn't matter that Jonathan is gone, because he's coming back._

 _It doesn't matter that Jonathan is me here, because he's doing._

 _It doesn't matter that my brother left gone, because he knows what he's coming back._

 _It doesn't matter that my brother Jonathan is gone left me because here he's because knows he what coming back—_

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"You have a visitor."

"Is it my brother?"

"No."

"I don't want them."

"Can't refuse this one, Black."

He was staring dully down at his arm, his expression devoid of anything as he stared at the gauze wrapping that was there. And the blood that was spotting through from underneath. He dragged his head up at the reply and blinked slowly, trying to figure out whether he'd heard him right. "Why not?" His voice was in pieces, barely worming itself out of a throat that was much too scratchy. He could barely speak above a mumble.

"I don't have time, Black, just come on," the guard exhaled.

Cameron stayed put. Until he figured there wasn't a point, and he dragged himself up. Pushing off his bed was absolute hell— his face twisted in severe pain, and a pathetic whimper escaped him as he had to hold onto the wall. The guard just watched him blandly, waiting like this was a huge inconvenience for him. Cameron had been found at four in the morning and taken to the infirmary. He'd stayed there until well past noon. He'd just come back to his cell to hopefully never move again for the rest of his life, and yet here he was, already being disappointed.

Which might as well be a thing, because apparently, he couldn't have a _single fucking thing_ for himself.

The guard turned once Cameron got out of the cell, and he led the way to the visiting room. It was slow going. What should have been a five-minute walk was more like fifteen. Cameron was numb to the snaps to hurry up, though. He just struggled on, clenching his teeth hard on the screams of pain that were trying to get through. By the time they got to the visiting room – Cameron recognized it as one of the rooms he'd met Jonathan in – there was a sheen of sweat on his face, and he was shaking from head to toe. He'd be liable of getting sick again, but there wasn't anything to offer. He just had to sit with the nausea and know there wasn't any getting rid of it.

The guard stepped to the side and took his position by the door. Cameron hesitated against the wall, trying to catch his breath. When he look up, though, the effort went out the window.

He didn't know what he expected when he'd heard 'You can't refuse this one.'

But he'd considered everyone but her.

Kay was sitting at the metal table, already looking at him by the time he finally brought himself to pick his head up. His eyes widened. His stomach fell. She was looking at him with clear concern, and before he could do anything, she was standing up. "Jonathan!" His heart fell ten stories. She looked him up and down in growing alarm. "Are you okay? What happened to you!?"

She made a move as if to rush over and help him, but Cameron quickly flinched, lifting his hand to stop her. He lingered where he was for a second, like he had a chance to turn around and reject her. Stupid hope fostered in his heart, achingly reluctant. Maybe she was there to tell him that they had sorted everything out…? Maybe she was there to tell him he was free, and Jonathan was waiting for him outside, armed with an explanation once they were both in the clear? He pushed off the wall and tried not to limp as he walked over to her. But he couldn't hide the fact that he practically collapsed into the chair with clear gratitude he didn't have to walk anymore.

She was still staring at him in pain; he didn't offer her an explanation. He just looked off to the side, locking his jaw backwards hard. Reluctantly, she sat again. She clasped her hands together on the table. "I…heard you didn't want to see Dina, when she came," she murmured. Hm. So that was who'd come. He should have guessed. Still, Cameron just looked off to the side. His lower lip trembled just the tiniest bit. He hoped she didn't notice. "They're…very worried about you, Jonathan. There haven't been any calls, any…"

Cameron stayed mute.

Kay ducked her head. She took in a slow breath. "I…wanted to come and tell you that I was sorry." Her voice was more choked than usual. His eyes flickered over to her again. Again, his lip trembled just the tiniest bit. "These past couple of days, I've just been… _overwhelmed_ with guilt, over everything. All of it. It wasn't up to me, and I had nothing to do with the decision, but— but Jonathan I am truly so sorry that things turned out the way they did. I wanted nothing more than to help get you out. I never lied about that, not once. I'm so sorry this happened to you."

He closed his eyes and turned back towards the wall.

Kay weakened. She looked down at the table. Her voice was even more strained when she continued. "You don't have to forgive me. I know we were your only chance, and I know we got your hopes up and let you down. I would understand if you didn't forgive me. Cameron didn't." He stiffened. His head jerked up, despite the pain. Kay wasn't looking. "And he deserved to…to say what he did." _Say? What did he say?_ "And you deserve to say the same thing." _What did he_ say!? "But…especially after I heard you were rejecting the team's visiting…I had to come down here and speak with you. Please don't punish them for something they didn't do. They're just as upset. And they need you. Now more than ever."

Cameron stayed mute. He just stared at her in silence.

She held his stare, and after a while, she nodded just a little bit. "But that's…that's not exactly why I came. Not totally," she reasoned. "I was…going to ask if you knew where Cameron was." He was gripping his knees tightly, ignoring the pain it caused. "He…a couple days ago, he left. I walked in on him packing, he was upset— saying he had to leave. I tried to pull him back and get him to see reason. I tried to apologize. I…" She trailed off. Cameron realized she was trying not to cry. The pit in his stomach was just getting deeper. "He wanted nothing to do with my apologies. Or…with me." He was going to throw up. "He told me he didn't need any more promises. And…he just left."

Reluctantly, she looked back at him. The shock and horror on Cameron's face must have made sense to her. "Please, Jonathan…if you know where Cameron went…please tell me. I swear to you, if you do know and if you tell me, I won't go after him, or tell him you told me. But I need to know that he's safe. I need to know that he's okay." Tears were building in both of their eyes, now. "I know I messed up, and I wish I could do more for him. For both of you. If you know where your brother is, please tell me."

It felt like years. Until he brought himself to whisper brokenly: "I don't know."

Kay wilted. "You have no idea?"

Cameron blinked.

She frowned. "He didn't speak to you before he left?"

He looked away.

She surveyed him entirely, her eyes narrowing. "Jonathan, what happened to you?"

"Please don't ask me that," he whispered.

Her eyes flashed. They narrowed just a little bit. There was a long stretch of silence, before she tried: "Jonathan, let me help you. Please."

"You can't," he managed. His expression fractured again, and she only leaned even closer. He turned more away, cringing on another jolt of agony. "It's done," he stated, meaning much more than what she was asking about. "It's all done. It doesn't matter."

Kay's eyes flashed. "You're not as angry as I thought you'd be…"

Cameron closed his eyes tightly.

"Cameron…was angrier than you are now."

"I don't want to talk to you," Cameron forced out. He couldn't do this. Not now. Not right now. He was falling apart. He was going to fall apart. Jonathan had packed up. He'd left. He'd told Kay something. He'd done something. He'd run away without telling anyone. Why would he tell Kay something if he was planning to have everything go back to normal? For the same reason he had knocked him out instead of just asking him to stay behind. The same reason he left without telling Cameron his plan, because there was no plan, _because there was no fucking plan and this entire time he'd been an absolute idiot for thinking that there was something else other than that and—_

"Jonathan are you alright?"

He was breathing in and out heavily, pain wrapping around his stomach with the gasps. Blackness was edging his vision, threatening to shove him down, and he wanted it, he wanted that blackness more than he wanted anything else, he wanted to fall unconsciousness and never wake up again, never have to face how stupid he'd been, how heartless Jonathan had been, what had happened last night, what was on his arm, what was—

"Jonathan!" Kay stood up quickly and rushed around the table to be at his side. Cameron was trembling, tears beginning to well over now as he gasped for air that wouldn't satisfy his lungs. She reached out and tried to grab his shoulders, but he flinched away from the contact, trying to get her off. _Don't let her know it's you, try to— there's no point, Jonathan's not coming back— he might though, and if he does I can't ruin it— I can't get back in there I can't go back in there don't make me go back in there Kay get me out of here please get me out of here get me out of here— trust Jonathan, he asked you to trust him— before he stabbed me in the back!_

" _Cameron!"_ He jerked at his name. Shock flared over his numbed expression and he realized his vision was blurred with tears, and that Kay had moved to hold either side of his face, bent down low so that their eyes could meet. At his harsh reaction, her own eyes flew wide, and there was no mistaking the panicked alarm on her face when it registered. "Cameron!?" she repeated. But now there was certainty. She looked at everything— at all his bruises, his bloody arm, and she didn't take her hands away from his face. "Oh my God, Cameron, what are you doing here!? What happened to you!?"

He couldn't reply. Not even if he wanted to. All Cameron did was fall apart.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It took less than an hour. Kay was _that_ pissed. A simple fingerprint and a lot of yelling and they were gone. In the middle of it all, somehow Cameron had faded back into a numbed state. His expression was blank and his stare was dead the entire time Kay was shouting at officers and demanding a change of clothes for him. When he helped him to the car, looping an arm over her neck and holding him gently around his side, he was expressionless and mute. He didn't even flinch every time they stumbled. He was dead to it.

She helped him get into the passenger seat. She even pulled his seat belt over him before she rushed into the driver's seat. All the while, she was apologizing for anything and everything. "I'm so sorry, Cameron, I'm so sorry, I should have come sooner, this is— I'm so sorry, we're getting you home, Cameron. I'll drive you home I'm so sorry." He didn't even blink at any of it. He just watched out the windshield as she pulled quickly away from the prison. Putting as much distance between him and it as she could, as fast as she could.

Silence existed for a bit as they finally got onto the road.

After a while, Kay looked at Cameron, her expression raw with pain. Cameron still wasn't looking at her. "Cameron…do you…do you want to talk about it?" she prompted.

He shook his head once.

She nodded. "Okay." Her voice was still choked. She looked back ahead.

Cameron continued to stare. Dull. In shock. Until his inhales began to puncture. Until his shoulders began to shake and heave. Kay's head immediately was whipping back around to him, just in time to see him collapse against the car door and hold his head in his hands. Before she could even brace herself for what she knew was about to come, she heard it. Gut-wrenching, horrible sobbing, practically ripping itself out of his chest through an already-ruined throat. Quickly, she pulled out of the lane they were in and threw the car into park, stricken as she whirled to her friend.

If this was even her friend. With this crying…with the way he looked…he seemed to be a complete stranger.

"Cameron, Cameron, it's okay," she tried to soothe. He just kept crying, broken-hearted keening that stabbed her heart to listen to. She had no idea what happened to him on the other side of that prison wall. She didn't even know how he'd gotten there in the first place. She had too many questions. But right now, none of them mattered. What mattered, is that she was there for him. That she try and help, because God knew she hadn't done much of that at all.

"Cameron, shhh." She leaned over without really thinking, and she put her arms around him tightly. She drew him close, in a tight embrace. It was a little awkward, given that they were in the car. But she didn't care. She just held him, feeling each sob shake his entire body. "It'll be fine, Cameron, everything is going to be fine from now on. I promise. I'm so sorry you, Cameron, I'm so sorry."

She thought Cameron wasn't even paying her any attention. Until he suddenly moved to throw his arms around her and cling to her almost desperately. He ducked his head down and buried it into her shoulder, his crying growing more muffled, this way. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to choke back the pure anger that was flooding through her system at the thought of what must have landed him there instead of Jonathan. She had to push that aside, too. That was for later— much later, after she got Cameron home, or maybe to a better doctor, and made sure that he was safe. Until he calmed down and got back to himself. That came first.

She would worry about everything else later.

Right now, she was just focused on holding Cameron tightly, trying to hold all of his pieces together before he broke entirely.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I have been alerted about a month later that I only uploaded half of this chapter in the first place! And I'm such a mess I didn't even notice. So here is the full second chapter please be understanding, for I am a mere simpleton.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"No, this is all I know right now."

…

"I have no idea. I went to visit Jonathan to apologize and ask him where Cameron went. But the longer I talked, the more—"

…

"No, no, not at all. No, Cameron couldn't possibly have known. Not by the way he was—"

…

"I _was_ , but Dina, you have no idea—" Kay had to stop and choke back a swallow. She looked down at the ground and shook her head. Her voice was quieter when she picked it back up. "I took him to the nearest hospital; we're in the emergency room right now. I don't think he wants to stay here for very long, I think he just wants to be home. As soon as we're done here, I'll bring him back, but Dina…"

…

"No, it's…" Kay took in a steadying breath. She glanced over her shoulder, to the bed she had left. Cameron was in the exact same position. He hadn't moved a single muscle. She didn't need to glance back over him for the details; they were already engrained in her mind. How pale he was from blood loss, how his skin was so darkened by his bruises. How his left eye was bright red and would soon turn a sickly shade of black and blue like the others. How his neck was bruised like it had been wrung, and how his voice was basically nonexistent because of that. How the bandaging on his arm had been wet to the touch when her hand had accidentally grazed it. There were more— injuries she couldn't see. But for now, these were the ones she knew, and already they made her sick. "Something horrible happened to him," she finished weakly. "He's _very_ hurt. He needs to get as much help as he can before I bring him back."

…

"Don't. I can just bring him back. I don't think…he's not himself. Right now. If you all come…"

…

"I _understand_. I'm not saying that, I just…don't want to crowd him. When I got too close to him before, he reacted…badly. I—" Kay swallowed and shook her head. She lowered her voice significantly, which was saying something, because she'd already been whispering before this moment. "I've…worked with countless people that have acted just like he is now, and the first priority was not to overwhelm them. He can get better medical treatment here, hopefully it won't take very long, and then I can bring him back home. If he's home, in a familiar setting, then he'll be able to handle more people at once easier. We just…have to be slow, I…"

…

"Well, no— or…I don't know. I don't think so. It was just a comparison. I…" Her voice dropped even more. Now, she was barely speaking. "At least…I hope it isn't…"

…

"I have no idea," she repeated in a whisper.

…

She closed her eyes tightly. Her hand shook just a little bit as she reached up and pressed it to her forehead. "I'll tell you if I find out," she exhaled slowly. "And if anything changes, I'll let you know. Okay? Tell— …tell Gunter and Jordan. Hopefully we'll be back before too long. But if not…I'll call you again."

…

"I will," she promised. "I will."

…

"Okay. Goodbye."

She pulled the phone away from her ear and hung up with a heavy heart. Her eyes stayed on the darkened screen only briefly, before she dragged them back up. She walked the short distance back to where Cameron was, pocketing her mobile on the way and trying to put Dina's worried voice out of her mind. He was laying on the bed, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused, like he was trying not to fall asleep but failing spectacularly. Her heart was lodged firmly in her throat by the time she got back to him. Once she did, she drew the curtain back so that they were shielded again. It looked like he was more out of it now, but when they'd first gotten here, the mass of people and the hustle and bustle had clearly upset him. So Kay fixed it automatically, even if Cameron wasn't really registering it anymore.

She turned back around once she was through and looked at him closely. "Cameron." Her voice was softer, and more soothing than it usually was. She reached out to put her hand on top of his, but at her touch he seemed to come back to himself more. He screwed his eyes shut in a flinch and moved so that his arm tucked closer to his side. It looked like he wanted to yank his hand away completely, but just wasn't able to pull it off.

But the tiny cringe was enough for her. She got the message and pulled away. And immediately, her heart squeezed in pain and worry, picking up a little bit as she tried to search her friend's face. It brought to mind all the people she'd seen before that had acted this way. All the other victims she'd mentioned working with to Dina. She'd noticed the similarities. They were glowing neon signs, demanding to be paid attention to. With her level of experience, it was impossible for her not to notice the ones that were already there. The cringing away, the easy escalation into panic, the aversion to eye contact, the bruises in somewhat similar areas—

"Cameron how are you doing?" She forced her mind elsewhere. Kay Daniels was smart, and she was never one to ignore something that was right in front of her face. But she found herself ignoring this. Blatantly, and firmly, she was refusing to even acknowledge it. Not right now. Cameron only blinked, a little slowly, before his forehead creased over in a cross between confusion and exhaustion. Kay paused a moment more, to allow him a chance to speak. When he didn't, she changed tactics. "I just got off the phone with Dina," she announced. "She's worried about you…but I explained everything, and I told her we would hopefully get out of here soon enough."

"…Everything?" Hearing Cameron was a struggle. His voice was completely ruined. It was nothing more than a rasp, barely grating out through his throat. The words sounded fragile and weak— like they were made of glass and could break apart in her hands if she held them with too much force. As it was, Cameron seemed barley-aware; his lips hardly moved to create the question in the first place. Kay gauged his expression carefully as he asked this, but she wasn't given much to work with. He'd had the same look on his face this entire time. He looked completely miserable and devoid of any life at all. Like everything had been drained out of him, or it had all slipped through his fingers like sand.

This wasn't at all the Cameron Black she knew. The one she cared so much for. And it ripped her heart in two to acknowledge.

"I told her everything I know so far…" Kay began slowly, still keeping tabs on his reactions. Still, there wasn't much, so she decided to press further. But with extreme care. It was like walking through a mine field, trying to see where the danger was before it was too late and she set it off anyway. "Cameron…can you tell me what happened?" she asked. "Why you were in there instead of Jonathan? Why you're hurt?" Again, Cameron just cringed blearily. She hesitated for a few moments before she forced herself to continue. She didn't want to, at all— at the moment, Cameron needed support and attention, not an interrogation. But this was important, too. She had to at least try. And she would be lying if she said her concern wasn't burning her through from the inside out. "Can you tell me anything?" she pleaded. "Anything at all, Cameron, I just want to help you."

He continued to stare ahead like he wasn't really present. Her eyes flickered down to the gauze on his arm, dark red, and she found herself pressing her lips together tightly to keep composed. It took everything inside her not to reach out and touch his hand again. She knew it would only upset him. When he spoke, it wasn't to answer her question— it was to ask one of his own. One that was completely different. Softly, he croaked: "What…did Dina say?" His eyes dragged over to her with this, and she saw that underneath the initial layer of disorientation, there was a severe kind of sorrow there. They were welling up with tears…she could see the gleam against the fluorescent lights.

It was only thanks to her years of practice that she could keep herself from reacting obviously to the agonizing sight. She forced her expression to remain soft, and her voice to stay even. "She was happy to hear that you were alright," she answered. "The entire team has been worried sick. She was confused…but she was happy. She wanted to come and see you, but I told her as soon as this was done, I would bring you back home myself. I told her to just wait there, and to tell Gunter and Jordan in the meantime. I image they'll be waiting for you right at the door."

Something in the back of his watery gaze broke. He closed his eyes and moved his head back so it was centered again on the pillow. She watched his expression crumble. His voice was already so shot that when he mumbled underneath his breath, it became practically impossible to understand what he was saying. She leaned in closer to try and help, though, and she managed to catch what it was. Though she immediately wished she hadn't. "I want to go home…" he croaked, and his voice was so defeated, it nearly snatched the air out of her lungs. Most likely, judging by the look on his face and the sloppy tone in his voice, Cameron had no idea what he was saying at the moment. Or he was less aware than usual, at the very least. Blame it on the blood loss, and the likely shock of everything that had happened— along with whatever had inflicted those injuries. But out of it or not, the sentiment was real. It was practically palpable. And it hurt just to hear.

"I know, Cameron," she managed, after having to take a brief second to recover. If he was paying more attention, he probably would have noticed how thick her voice was. She was trying not to stare directly at him, because seeing all his injuries just made it worse. "I'll get you home soon, I promise. But you need to be here for a little bit longer, first. You're very hurt." And with this, she forced herself to try again. "Can you tell me what got you so hurt, Cameron?" He closed his eyes tighter, again. When he opened them, he looked down again at his gauze— his eyes kept gravitating there, like he didn't have a choice. He looked like he was going to be sick. "Did someone attack you? Was it another prisoner? What happened?"

The strained look of sorrow and anguish stayed on his face, only sharpening when she kept up with her prying. He swallowed hard and moved his head on the pillow as if to flinch. However, when he spoke, again, it was still off-topic. She barely caught his whisper. "What…did Jonathan say?"

Kay blinked as she pulled back. She weakened with even more sorrow. She wasn't sure what he meant. "I…didn't call Jonathan, Cameron," she explained. "I called Dina. Only Dina." She hesitated before she added: "I don't know where Jonathan is…he left, I— I thought he was you. This entire time, I've been wondering where you were, but you were…" She composed herself and took another deep breath. She leaned a bit more to try and catch his eyes. "Cameron _why were you in there instead of Jonathan_?" she pressed. "Did you two switch places? Was there a plan? Can you tell me where he went?"

There was no light in his eyes at all; they were completely dulled. Nevertheless, Kay watched as the far-left corner of his mouth twitched upwards, into what had to be the tiniest smile she had ever seen. It began and died there; it didn't leak up into his eyes in any way. "He's…" He exhaled heavily and his eyes slid closed. "It doesn't…matter he left, he's— coming back," he told her. Her stomach dropped at once, with the reassurance, but he was oblivious to her. "He knows…J— Johnny knows what…he's doing. He's coming…back he's coming back. For me." The longer he spoke, the softer his voice got, until eventually his lips were moving without sound. She leaned in to try and make out what he was saying, but it was a fruitless effort.

The lump in her throat was getting bigger and bigger. "Cameron did you say Jonathan left you there?" she rasped. When Cameron still only mumbled to herself, she tried again, louder this time. "Cameron, were you and Jonathan working together? Or did he leave you like this?" Still, she got nothing in return. Her chest constricted and she reached out to touch his arm, noticing the flinch that ruined his expression immediately upon contact. "Why didn't you call me?" she implored, her voice fracturing. It had been almost three days, why…? "Cameron, why didn't you call anyone?" she begged, quickly losing control of herself the longer he refused to answer. "Why didn't you tell anyone at the prison? You could have—"

"He's coming back!" Cameron croaked, his voice breaking in two. He tried to raise his voice into a yell, but with his throat, the effort only got him speaking at a relatively normal volume. Still, it was enough to cause Kay to flinch backwards, and harshly. He refused to look at her, keeping his eyes forward instead. And before Kay could say anything, he was quickly crumbling into pieces like he had back in the prison. He closed his eyes as tightly as he possibly could, and clumsily, he started mumbling under his breath again. She could only catch little snippets. The words went from being clear, to being too soft and choked to be picked up. "He's…wouldn't leave me, he…" He cringed. "He l— I'm waiting, he's— …I couldn't do anything, I tried to— I couldn't— they wouldn't—"

"Shh, Cameron, shh." Her eyes were raw with pain. She could practically feel every one of his injuries, she was in so much pain seeing him in this state. He grimaced again, but some part of his expression was beginning to melt back into groggy apathy. Even so, his lips were still moving like he wanted to go on. She was almost tempted to let him, if only to try and get some answers. But she held herself back, and just soothed him. Prying them out of him now was just heartless, and she couldn't even be sure they would be accurate as it was. "Don't worry, Cameron, okay?" she proposed instead. "We'll figure it all out later, I promise. We can talk about all of this later. When you're ready. We don't have to do it right now."

To her relief, he quieted. His face relaxed and the tension melted out of his shoulders. It was like nothing had even happened. She started to try and say something else, maybe to help him stay calm. When the curtain was pulled back and a nurse stepped into their little space, bright-eyed and smiling. Much too bubbly in contrast to Cameron's state. "Sorry that took me a bit!" she chirped. "But I've got his blood type now, and the lab is making sure it's all correct. Then we can start the transfusion." She turned, sympathy and pity alike mingling in her gaze as she looked down at her patient. It made Kay's stomach churn unexpectedly, to see. "Sir is it alright if I take this off?" she asked gently, already reaching for the gauze on his arm. "I can clean that up for you a bit more. You might need stitches, unless you pulled the ones you were given already…"

Cameron didn't react. The nurse nodded once and reached out, gingerly moving his arm closer to her. A weak mumble escaped his lips. Kay kept her eyes on him tensely. The nurse set to work undoing the wrapping on his arm, her face growing a little pinched as the injury was revealed. Kay looked down as well, and immediately she had to fight not to look away. Or at the very least, she had to fight to keep her stomach at bay.

The wound was awful. It was smeared thick with blood still, and it looked painfully deep. But that wasn't the part that truly flipped her stomach. What truly brought bile to rise up in the back of her throat was the fact that the wound was shaped in a twisted 'S.' It was sloppy and jagged, but it was readable all the same. It was like someone had taken a knife and cut it right into his skin. Kay was floored, her mind going blank as she just stared at it in shock. The nurse was more composed, however. She kept the smile on her face and just said simply: "Looks like medical glue isn't enough for this injury…surprised they even tried. I'm afraid we're going to have to do sutures…"

Cameron didn't react. He might not have even heard. He was getting groggier and groggier with every passing second. Kay found herself reaching out and placing her hand down to rest lightly on his uninjured arm. He didn't react to that, either. But at least he wasn't shrinking away from her anymore. As the nurse got to work setting the gauze aside and cleaning the injury, she watched with a heavy heart as Cameron cringed absently and cried out under his breath. A couple times he tried to move as if to take his arm away, but he couldn't manage it. He was bordering too far on the edge of unconsciousness to do anything of the sort. Kay found herself trying to soothe him anyway, running her thumb gently back and forth across his arm.

The nurse took to work in silence now. She must have realized that there was no use in trying to keep up kind conversation. She spread a numbing agent over the wound to make it less painful when she began to stitch. However, eyes were drawn elsewhere before she could, and a frown traced over her face. She leaned over and picked up the hand of the arm Kay was holding to. Immediately, Cameron yelped, wincing as he looked even closer to getting sick. She put it back down immediately, doing the same to the other one. Again, she got the same response. "Did you hurt your hands, sir?" she asked. Cameron didn't respond, and she looked questioningly at Kay, instead.

Kay's throat was thick. She shook her head. "I…I don't know," she all but whispered. The effort had already been made by hospital staff to ask Cameron what all had happened to him. He, of course, hadn't been any help. Kay had could only offer what she knew, and what she expected. But this was a question mark. Just like a majority of it was.

The woman hesitated, clearly troubled. Before she remembered herself and pasted that smile back on her face. "We'll get some x-rays," she reassured sweetly. "I'm not too sure about the other one, but I think this one might be fractured." She paused, shuffling her feet. She proposed slowly: "I really do think it might be a smarter decision medically if he be admitted," she tried, a bit weaker. "I know you said you would rather him not be, but especially with a blood transfusion, we usually—"

"He doesn't want to be admitted," Kay broke in. "He wants to get home as soon as he can."

"I understand," she returned. "But these are injuries that could need observation— it could just be a night and nothing more, just to make sure everything is alright. He has head injuries that might—"

"If these are injuries that can be treated and taken care of outside the hospital, that will be what's best for him," she insisted. "He wants to be home." She looked down at her friend and weakened when she realized that his head had fallen to the side, towards her. He was staring dully at her hand, still on his arm. His eyes were barely open, but when they blinked, she saw a tear trace its way down the side of his face. It just made her all the more certain. "He'll be taken care of, where he's going. He'll be watched like a hawk, I know he will. Unless it is _absolutely_ medically necessary he stay here…"

The nurse pursed her lips. She hesitated, before she took in a slow breath and looked back down at Cameron's arm. She seemed torn. Eventually, she tilted her head to the side. "We'll see," she reasoned. "I'm sure the doctor will have a better answer for you."

Kay nodded. But privately, she told herself that wouldn't be a difficult leap.

Any answer would be better. Because at this point, she had absolutely none.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was _hours_ before they were able to leave. Kay stayed with Cameron the entire time; she didn't leave him once. Throughout the entire thing, he stayed out of it and unfocused; he was so exhausted, he was going in and out of dozing. He must not have slept at all when he was away. It was good because it kept him from really focusing on everything. All the nurses and the doctors and the tests. Whenever he did come back to himself, Kay would recognize it immediately; he would shift and flinch from the pain, or unwanted contact. He'd try and move away, and Kay would try to console him as best she could, reminding him where he was and what was happening. More than enough times, he'd met her efforts with a tiny "I want to go home." Every time she'd replied and reassured him that they were, her voice was thicker and thicker.

Hours later, and her promise was finally able to be acted upon. Cameron's body had not rejected the blood transfusion; the staff had made sure of this. His ghostly paleness was gone, and a healthier flush was back to his face. The cut bridging his forehead was sealed and covered with a gauze patch, and the horrible carving on his arm had not only been cleaned and disinfected, but it had also been stitched to the best of the hospitals' abilities. His left hand had turned out to have a fracture; it was going home in a cast. His other one didn't have an actual break, but they were told to be careful. His ribs weren't broken either, just bruised, so bedrest was heavily recommended. Bedrest was also cautioned for his head, and they were told should any negative symptoms arise, they should come back immediately.

The hospital was not happy they were refusing inpatient treatment. But given they could not force it, they had just let Kay depart with a laundry list of precautions and instructions. To change the wrapping on his arm frequently, to avoid infection. To give him only certain painkillers and limit their use as much as possible. This and much more, she took down to tell the team. Kay had paid close attention as they did everything, not saying a single word. Until she had broken her silence and followed after the doctor who was in charge of Cameron, and quietly put in her own request.

With clear trepidation and obvious reluctance, she had asked him if it was possible to test for STDs, or if he had already done so.

Of course, it hadn't been up to her. She didn't have power of attorney. It had all been up to Cameron.

The doctor must have gotten some kind of compliance from him. Maybe he had waited to ask purposefully until Kay had stepped away to answer another one of Dina's calls. Because they had been sent home with precautionary antibiotics and the promise that the results of the tests would come shortly. Kay had pretended not to hear— but Cameron hadn't been paying much attention himself. Once he was patched up – much more patched up and healed than he had been in in the prison – Kay had once again helped him up gingerly. The hospital offered a wheelchair for the trip out, and at first, she had been inclined to reject it and just help him shuffle along like she had when they'd arrived. But by that point Cameron had been more than exhausted. And she'd known putting the strain on him to walk would be heartless. So she'd accepted the wheelchair and helped him to the car that way.

The ride back to the Archive was a silent one. Cameron had collapsed with gratitude into the passenger seat, and he had proceeded to immediately fall asleep again against the car door. Kay had turned the radio off and not made a single noise the entire way. Which was good enough, because she wasn't even sure she would be able to say anything even if he was awake. As she drove she'd been silent, her face ashen and her expression stricken as she glanced over at him every so often. Thinking about every single one of the injuries she'd seen. Everything she'd been told to do in order to ensure his recovery. The way that the doctor had only nodded gravely when she'd asked about the additional testing, seeming completely unsurprised by her own drawn conclusion. Because they'd seen the same signs she had and had likely been planning to propose it anyway.

They reached the Archive and Kay had plastered that smile over her face again. She'd leaned over to Cameron and gently put her hand down on his shoulder. At her touch, he'd immediately stiffened, and his eyes snapped open a little faster than she'd anticipated. When he'd whirled around to look at her he was still disheveled and confused. Barely-there. To her credit, she'd kept the grin in place. "We're here, Cameron," she'd announced gently, and Cameron had just stared at her, like he was still trying to sort out where he was in the first place. "You're back. You're home."

Getting up to the door was a struggle. At this point, Cameron wasn't able to contribute much in any way at all. His steps were just stumbles, and every time Kay had to catch him, he cried out underneath his breath, in tiny hitched sobs. He could hardly walk— it was all just feeble limps. She apologized with every fumble, feeling worse and worse with each passing one. They finally made it, though, and when they did, and when Kay reached over to ring the doorbell, they were met with exactly what she'd been expecting. The door flew open practically before she could lower her arm. Dina was on the other side of the threshold, holding tightly to her phone in her other hand, like she was still waiting for Kay to call, even though she was right in front of her now.

"Cameron!" The cry escaped Dina's lips immediately. From behind her, Gunter and Jordan were rushing up from the couch, both stricken with more than a lifetime's worth of alarm when they laid eyes on him. Kay shot them all a warning look that was fit to kill, as she practically propped Cameron up, and made sure he wouldn't fall. If she let go of him, he certainly would. At Dina's yell, he cringed blearily, but picked his head up after some hesitation. He was still muddled, but the moment their eyes connected he must have gathered a bit of himself back. A worn smile traced over his face, and Dina's expression fell as she realized his eyes were welling with tears. Already, she looked like she was becoming overwhelmed. "Oh, darling…" she choked, her lips trembling as she stepped forward to wrap him into a gentle hug.

He didn't draw away from the embrace; rather, he seemed to reap comfort from it. Kay hesitated to make sure, but ducked to the side after a moment's pause, untangling herself from him and letting Dina do the supporting he'd need. She took the task without any hesitation, and Cameron moved his good arm to hold fast to her. He was shaking— Kay could see it even from where she stood. And after a heartbeat, she heard a muffled sniff from where his head was buried into her shoulder. She looked away, her heart too injured. Gunter and Jordan had stopped a little bit behind Dina. She saw that they were both staring at Cameron in shock, like they had never seen him before.

And likely, they hadn't. Not _this_ Cameron. Kay certainly hadn't, that was for sure.

Dina held him carefully, in a way that let him balance to the best of his ability but ensure his footing at the same time. Her eyes were misty but she was much tougher than people oftentimes gave her credit for. She kept Cameron close with one arm and used her other to rub comforting circles on his back, keeping her touch overly gentle, like he was a glass figurine that could shatter at any moment. Cameron kept crying, and she kept soothing him easily. Maybe after all her conversations with Kay she had expected a return like this, and that was why she was doing so well. Maybe it was just second nature. Either way, she was doing so without a single bit of hesitation. "You're alright, Cameron, you're okay now," she reassured. "It's over, darling, it's all over. I promise…"

When Gunter broke out of his stupor, he did so quickly, and abruptly. He whirled around to Kay, and when he spoke, his voice was nothing more than a low growl. She might not have heard him, if he hadn't gotten less than two inches away from her. "What happened?" he all but spat, and Kay closed her eyes to will herself patience. "What happened to him— why was he in there? _What's going on_?" He had none of these answers and therefore no information whatsoever. But it seemed as though he was already plotting the death of whoever was the root cause of this issue. Like he was trying to map out the best way to rip them limb from limb that would permit the most suffering possible.

Dina's eyes flickered over to Kay with the inquiry, and Jordan was just as obvious an audience, once he was finally able to rip his startled gaze away from Cameron. Cameron was quieting now and stilling all over again. He needed a bed— a proper sleep, that wasn't disturbed by questions or painful procedures and diagnostic tests. Kay breathed out slowly, "I'm still not sure," she managed. Immediately, she had to ignore the dissatisfied scowl that came over Gunter's face. "Cameron…was trying to talk in the emergency room…he said that…Jonathan left him in the prison." The trio was completely silent, looking at her in frank disbelief. She ducked her head and shook it with a grimace. "I think he…forced Cameron to switch places with him somehow. The person I talked to that was leaving three days ago…that was Jonathan, just…pretending to be Cameron. I think he…forced Cameron to switch places with him and ran off. It would make sense— I think after waiting for his freedom for so long and then being refused it again…I think he just decided to take it himself."

"Jonathan wouldn't do that," Gunter blustered. He turned, looking at Cameron, and the horrible state he was in. It was hard to tell what he was more: furious or sickened. "Jonathan would never do this to Cameron," he pressed after a heartbeat of silence.

Kay followed his gaze, her own weighing about a million pounds. She didn't want to argue against them. Not right now, and not in front of Cameron. She had already seen him get upset at the mention of his brother once; she couldn't bear to hear it all again. He needed rest and something to eat and drink. He had been severely dehydrated at the hospital— they had given him saline to counteract it. She needed to pass on everything to the team, so that she knew when she left, she would be leaving Cameron in good hands. Her voice was flatter and crisper when she spoke. "We're going to sort through all of it later," she said, ignoring Gunter's glower. "For now, Cameron needs to be taken care of. He comes first."

"Of course," Dina murmured, still making sure he was steady. At this point, she was practically taking most of his weight. Kay was relieved when she saw the somber understanding that was on her face. And the relief only multiplied when she spoke. "Gunter, can you help him get to his room?" she asked, rousing him out of whatever mental reverie he seemed to have gotten stuck in. "Is that alright, Cam?" She asked this just to be clear, but the question was fairly pointless. The answer was already there, plain as day. Cameron was practically asleep on his feet, standing against her. He was confined to bedrest as it was, per recommendation by the hospital. And sleep seemed to be on the top of the list when it came to what he needed the most. Everything else could be handled later.

Gunter couldn't argue. Kay watched as he went over to the pair and separated Cameron from Dina. It was hard not to notice how uncharacteristically gentle he was with Cam as he paid special mind to his injuries. "C'mon, then." Even his voice was softer. Cameron flinched as he was forced back into motion, but he must have known better than to object, or he was simply too far gone to. He let Gunter lead him away, taking shuffling, baby steps that didn't get very far. Gunter was patient, and he could support him much more than Dina or Kay had been able to. "Let's get you to bed," he continued. "You look like you could use a nice, long rest. It'll come easy to you, I bet." Cameron didn't respond. His head was hung low so his chin was to his chest. The more they walked, the less his legs moved and the more Gunter had to hold him up.

The other three lingered in the living room, all with mirrored looks of sorrow and pain as they watched them slowly retreat down the hall.

For a long while, they just stood in silence. There was too much to say, too much to think about for conversation to exist. Kay was reeling from the day. By now it was late, and she was drained. There was no imagining how Cameron felt. There was no imagining any of it, though. She could feel Dina and Jordan staring at her, and when she turned to see the looks on their faces, the questions they had were obvious. She had to take a deep breath and steel herself before she could say anything at all. "I still don't know what happened," she said, picking the easiest question of theirs to answer. Again, she tried to ignore their blatant disappointment. "Like I said…I think Jonathan tricked him or…persuaded him to switch places. I think he's been in there for these past three days just…waiting for him to come back. Not wanting to get him into trouble, maybe…"

And she could see that plainly. She could see Cameron resigning himself to the entire situation, simply because he thought it was the best thing for his brother. Reflecting on it now, there wasn't a doubt in her mind that at least something along that line had been the case. In fact, she was _furious_ at herself for not thinking of this sooner. How had she not noticed that it had been Jonathan she'd confronted, and not Cameron? How in the world had she ever believed that Cameron would regard her with such hostility and open resentment? Even if he'd been angry about MW getting into witness protection, she should have known that it wasn't Cameron she was looking at. She should have visited the prison sooner, she should have done _something_ sooner. Maybe she could have stopped whatever happened to him, if she had. Maybe she could have saved him.

"He looks terrible," Jordan whispered after quite a long stretch of silence.

"He has..." Kay took in a shivering breath. "A few of his ribs are bruised…when we got to the hospital he was severely dehydrated and malnourished. He had a few injuries to his head, and a lot of bruising. He was strangled…he can't talk very loud at all, it mostly comes out as a whisper. One of his hands is fractured, and he…" She had to do another slow inhale. "On his right arm, there's what looks like a knife wound. A…carving of an 'S' in his skin; it was deep, he had to get stitches and a blood transfusion." Dina paled immediately at the mental image. Jordan was unresponsive in his shock. "That was one of the bigger problems. The hospital told me all the things that need to be done to help him, and one of them was to change his dressings frequently."

Dina was crying. Silently, so it wasn't obvious until she spoke and her voice came out thick. "Is he okay?" she cried, turning and looking back the way Gunter had lead Cameron.

Kay sat with the question for what felt like ages. Until she felt her throat swell and her eyes burn. She gave a singular, jerking shake of the head. "No, no, I…I don't think he's okay at all," she answered honestly. Dina looked back, heartbreak clear in her eyes. Kay could barely bring herself to meet her stare. "The only reason I realized it was him in the prison was because he broke down in front of me…crying, hyperventilating…he looked like he was going to faint. Then he just…shut down. I've never seen him like that before.

"He's been through so much…by the time we got to the hospital he was completely out of it, like he is now. I think half of it was because he'd lost so much blood. But…when I tried to ask him about Jonathan, he got very upset. He would have yelled at me, if he could. I think…" She shook her head. "I don't know what to think," she reasoned. "I tried to get answers from him, but eventually I stopped. I'll come back tomorrow, and I'll ask him then. But he was in so much shock and pain— there wouldn't have been any use in trying to get answers out of him now." And she couldn't bring herself to in the first place. She didn't add this part on, but it was clear by the look on her face.

"How could Jonathan _do_ this?" Dina croaked.

"We don't know that he did." Of course Gunter was the one to dole out this support. He was walking back down the hall, and at the question, his eyes narrowed into slits. His voice and expression alike were hard, leaving little to no room for anything even close to doubt. Dina looked at him and her eyes flashed, but he was firm on his point. "Jonathan wouldn't do anything like that to Cameron; we don't know what happened and until Cameron tells us, we can't go pointing fingers."

Jordan's lips pressed together. He didn't argue out loud, but the disagreement was written on his face for everyone to see. Still, when he spoke, it wasn't to object. Instead, it was to ask: "Is Cameron okay? Is he sleeping?"

Gunter's anger melted away at once with the inquiry. Like it was snow on a hundred-degree day. He sobered and looked down towards the ground. "He was asleep before he even hit the bed," he replied heavily. "I kept the door open, just in case." This already was proving Kay right. Just as much care and consideration would be given here than if they had been in a hospital. His injuries were severe, but they were still able to be taken care of at home. With a staff of three that would be hovering over him and paying attention to his every little detail. He was in good hands, with them. He always had been. They would do anything for Cameron, she knew; so she knew that when she left, she wouldn't have to waste a single second wondering if he was alright. He would be.

However, she still had a couple things she needed to do.

She started with the easier task first: filling them in. She told them what had happened in the hospital, and what the staff had told her. She told them every little thing he needed, and how to do it. It wasn't much, but the list was thorough, and it covered every possible base. She made sure they knew he was to be on bedrest, and how he had to eat as soon as he got up because it looked like he hadn't had a single thing the entire time he was away. How he had to stay hydrated, how they had to make sure his stitching stayed clean and the dressings never stayed on for too long. She gave Dina her number and asked her to call her if anything changed but promised she would be back to help as soon as she possibly could. She asked them to please not try and wrench any answers out from Cameron. If he offered them information, that was fine, and they needed to pass it off to her, but she recommended that they not push. They were Cameron's friends, and he was in a sensitive situation. If he needed to see anyone as 'safe' to be with and trust, it was them. And that would be ruined if he woke up to an immediate investigation.

"And that…brings me to that last thing," she exhaled, reaching back into her pockets. She straightened and produced the bottles of medication. They all stared at it like they'd never seen pill capsules before in their life. "The tests haven't gone through yet; they said they would call with the results as soon as they knew. But until then…he needs to take these every morning just in case." She handed them over, still feeling their weight in her hand even as she passed them off. She tried to find the right words. "I _need you to understand_ …he's going to need you three. More than me, more than anyone else. And…this is why you can't push him for answers. This is why you can't do anything but be there for him, and _listen to him_."

"What are these for?" Jordan asked. The labels may as well have been written in Latin.

Kay's eyes flickered down the hallway, like she was afraid Cameron would be eavesdropping. Even though she knew one hundred percent he was long gone, and likely to sleep well into tomorrow, if not the entire day. Her words were slow and filled with regret. "They're to act against STDs," she forced out, and at once all three of their heads snapped up. Dina clapped a hand over her mouth, and her eyes immediately filled with even more tears. Jordan kept that look of confused shock, and after a heartbeat of fostering the same expression, Gunter's face clouded over with pure rage. He held the pill bottle in his hands about ten times harder. So much so Kay was worried the plastic would crack.

"I didn't ask him, of course…he was too upset and disoriented. But I've seen enough victims." She was fighting to keep herself composed. Trying to ignore how the word 'victim' tasted like acid on her tongue when in reference to her friend, who was usually smiling from ear to ear. Who never wanted to do anything but help the person nearest to him, or at least stun/bother them with some unasked-for magic trick. "Every time anyone tried to grab his arms or his hands, he yanked himself away. He was very sensitive to crowds, and at the prison he couldn't even look at me for very long. He has bruising on his neck and his wrists and his hips…I asked him what had happened to him when I still thought he was Jonathan, and he begged me not to." Her stare was empty and hollow. She realized a tear was about to fall and quickly ducked her head, brushing at her eyes and trying to pass it off as a nose scratch instead.

She looked back up again and forced herself to take a calming breath. To ignore the looks that were on her friends' faces as they stared at her. She already felt like she was sick— the way they were looking at her now just made it worse. "We're going to find out what happened," she vowed. Nobody looked at all certain. "We're going to find out what happened to Cameron and help him. And I'm going to find Jonathan." Her voice fostered just the hardest bit of edge with this promise. "We're going to fix this. I promise you. Everything's going to be just fine."

Silence met this sentiment.

Until Gunter only scowled more and declared: "The FBI is the reason we're in this mess in the first place."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She came back the next night, rushing to the Archive like it was on fire and she had the last bucket of water in the world. The day had been hectic, and strained. Trying to explain it all to Deakins with the limited knowledge she had in the first place was a trial in itself, and when she could only fumble for answers to questions that hurt too much to even listen to, it only made it worse. And of course, it hurt to be yelled at for being so blind as to let Jonathan walk off and know that she deserved the admonishment one hundred percent. Because he _had_ been right in front of her, and if she had just been thinking a little bit more, she could have maybe stopped him. It had hurt to feel the glare her superior had shot her and know that Cameron deserved to be the one giving her such a poisonous look.

She'd told herself the very second she got off of work she would flock to the others again. Even if it just meant she could be there for a few hours because she had to go right back and help track down where Jonathan had gone. They hadn't managed it yet, and she knew without a doubt in her mind that she wouldn't be able to sleep until he was tracked down. Until he was brought back and he had to answer for whatever it was that he did. For now, she just had to get to Cameron. A majority of the reason being that she just had to see how he was doing still. But this was also an opportunity for answers.

A different set of answers. And answers she didn't want to hear. But…answers all the same.

She'd been on her way out when Mike had stopped her and asked if he could come along. She had almost refused, for some initial reason. Her gut had instantly wanted to make her open her mouth and reject him. But she had stopped herself before she could. She'd seen the look that was on Mike's face, and she knew that he was just as concerned as she was. And he was concerned about Dina too. She couldn't have told him to stay behind. And she had given her report on Cameron's state to everyone back the office— he knew he had to take it easy, when it came to him. She hoped there wasn't a harm in him coming along.

When she knocked on the door it was less than five seconds until someone was opening it. Jordan was on the other side, exhausted and strained. When he saw it was Kay, he put on a little bit of a smile. "Oh, hey." He looked at Mike and brightened even more. "You brought a party with you. It's about time." He stepped aside and let them in. Gunter was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his head in his hands. When the two of them came in, he straightened up. His expression was stony. Dina wasn't anywhere to be found.

Neither was Cameron.

"How is he?" she asked tensely. No hello. Just right to it.

Gunter could only hold her stare for a few seconds. He offered no answer. He just looked away. Jordan volunteered to take up the task. "He's still in bed," he sighed. "Dina's been in with him the most. She left a while ago to try and get him to eat dinner…he didn't really have much of anything else we offered. He hasn't been hungry." She still stared at him expectantly. He took in a slow breath and cleared his throat. "He hasn't talked much at all, either. We haven't asked him about…anything, though. It's just…in general…he won't talk." A little more hopefully, he added: "He's not as out of it as he was last night. He's more like his old…" He trailed off, his expression flickering. He didn't try and finish.

Kay attempted to move on. "That's…that's good he's still in bed, he needed the rest. I can try and help Dina…but I…I have to try and see whether or not I can get any answers out of him…" Gunter frowned with this. She immediately tried to justify herself. Not that it was needed in any way. For some reason, she just felt like it was. "We need to find Jonathan…and figure out what he's trying to do. He's already gotten the chance to run for four days now— he could be anywhere. MW escaped witness protection, just like—" The words died on her. Her chest pulled painfully. "Just like Cameron said she would," she finished softer. "We have to find them. Especially if they're together. If they're doing anything, if they're—"

"You think Jonathan ran off with the mystery woman?" Gunter asked, scorn edging his words.

Kay hesitated. Her response came drenched in hesitation. "It seems way too coincidental that this has all lined up the way it has. Maybe—"

"You think Jonathan would throw Cameron to the dogs to go run away with the woman that caused all this trouble in the first place?" Gunter pressed. Kay closed her mouth, knowing no matter what she tried to say, he would just ignore her. He smiled, but it was a smile filled with anger and indignation. "I can't believe you," he scoffed. Kay kept silent and in check. Mike, on the other hand, was getting stiffer at her side. Gunter was just angry. Furious. Practically spitting. "You know, I said from the _very beginning_ that you lot wouldn't do a _single thing_ for us. Cameron thought different, but I saw you for what you really were! This whole thing happened because you didn't help Jonathan the way you promised, and now here you are, still trying to pin him with some kind of blame!"

Jordan tried to come to her aid. "Gunter, maybe she has a point…"

"You really think Jonathan would do this to Cameron!? For the woman that framed him for murder in the first place!?" Gunter roared. Jordan grimaced as he ducked down. " _Seriously_!? You've got to be joking! Both of you are mental!" Kay took a step forward and started to say something, but she quickly jerked backwards as he turned to round on her. This time Mike's arm went out to plant between them. But Gunter wasn't paying attention. "The only person with blame here is you! Both of you!" He jabbed a finger in Mike's face. " _You've_ hated Jonathan from the very beginning! Of course you would try to find a way to make him out to be the bad guy!" he snapped.

Mike started to reply, but Gunter was whirling back to Kay before there was a chance to. "And _you_!" Kay clamped her lips down tightly, her hands fisting at her sides. "You act like you care, but if you did, you wouldn't have let it get this way in the first place! You would have done something before now!" She was rigid, her eyes narrowing gradually. "And you come in here acting like you know what's best for him— telling us how to 'handle' him, as if you've known him for more than two months!" This one hurt. Her eyes darted to the side. Mike started wedging himself between them more and more. "You don't know him like we do! You don't _care about him_ like we do! You've got no right to waltz in here and—"

"Gunter, _stop_!" Jordan pleaded. "You can't just—!"

"You've only used him for your own personal gain this entire time!" Gunter snapped. "All you've done is have him help you with all the cases you weren't able to figure out, hanging Jonathan's freedom in front of him like it was a bone and yanking it away whenever he got too close!" He leaned even closer; Mike was getting more and more in between them, flaring more with every hurled accusation. "Well, how does it feel now?" Gunter growled. "How does it feel to know that you got what you wanted? That your FBI was sitting pretty with someone on the inside now, and you didn't even have to waste your time holding up your end?"

"This wasn't _at all_ what I wanted!" Kay burst, her heart going into a spasm when she realized how tight her voice was. "I _do_ care about Cameron— I—"

"How can you stand there and pretend this isn't on you!?" Gunter roared, and Kay looked away. "How can you look at him now and not—"

"Gunter, that's enough!" Mike yelled. He was livid by now, and apparently this was where he drew the line. "It's not anyone's fault! The blame isn't on anyone in this room, it's—"

"Right, because it's all Jonathan's!?" Gunter demanded. Mike clammed up at once, though he looked like he was two seconds away from bursting out an agreement. This hint was all the encouragement Gunter needed, though. "No, can't blame anyone _here_ , because the man you _usually_ blame everything on is out somewhere else!" He shook his head hard. "The only reason you're blaming Jonathan for this is the same reason we're in all of this in the first place! Is because you don't know him like you pretend to! Just like you don't care about Cameron like you pretend to! He would never do that to Cameron in a million years! Unlike you all, he has a heart, and a conscience—"

" _Hey_!" It was nothing but a hiss, but it was scathing enough to cut everyone off immediately. Everyone whirled around to see Dina in the doorway, absolutely furious. She looked just as tired as the rest of them, like none of them had gotten any sleep at all. And her stare was especially poisonous when she looked at Gunter. "You're going to wake him up," she seethed. "And for what? Some stupid argument that isn't even going to get us anywhere!" She shook her head with clear derision. "Try to use your head if you can," she snapped.

Gunter seemed like he was inclined to fight even more. But something about Dina took that away from him. His stare was still hostile when he flashed a look at Mike and Kay. But he dropped it and turned on his toe. He left them all in the kitchen and headed upstairs instead. Kay watched him go. Once his back was to her, she let her expression crowd with sorrow and regret. Dina must have realized this, because she weakened with regret. "I'm sorry, Kay," she sighed. "He doesn't mean it, he's just…he's just not going very well with…" She trailed off. But finishing wasn't really necessary; Kay could do it on her own.

"It's alright," she murmured. "I…" She cleared her throat. "I just wanted to know how Cameron was doing." Her gaze lingered on the stairs for a heartbeat longer, before she tore it away and smiled at her friend. She hoped the gesture wasn't as pinched as it felt. "You said he was…sleeping?"

Dina's eyes flashed. She gave a tiny nod. "He is now. He didn't…want any dinner. I left it for him, though, just in case." She smiled, like that was the end of it. But Kay stayed staring at her worriedly, and it dragged the rest out. "He's…been distant. He hasn't talked very much. And he's said absolutely nothing about…" She shook her head. "Mostly he's just asked questions. He's…always preferred to listen whenever he's…particularly upset. Mostly I've been doing the talking. He…" Again, she had to clear her throat. "He did ask about Jonathan," she managed eventually.

Kay's stomach clenched. "What about him?"

"He asked…where he was. Or if I'd heard from him." She had to fight a grimace. "He didn't take it very well when I told him nobody knew anything. Unless…?"

Desperate hope sparked in the back of her expression, but it was killed when Kay just shook her head. "We can't find either of them," she said. "Him or MW. They're both just gone. We've got as many people working the case as we can, but all day, there's been nothing." Dina sagged in disappointment, her eyes sliding closed. Kay could see every ounce of her strain and exhaustion. She could see how this whole thing was taking its toll on her already. Kay wished she could do more. She wished she could do _anything_. "We're looking, though. We're going to keep trying. In…in the meantime, I was going to try and talk to Cameron."

Dina and Jordan both looked at her warily.

"The faster we can get answers, the better it will be," she tried, ignoring the fact that she was just as hesitant as they were. The mere thought of forcing anything out of Cameron set her on-edge. She shook her head. "I'll be fast…and only get what I need to right now. And if he starts getting upset, I'll stop immediately. I just…have to try. I have to do everything I can to try and help him." If either of them were planning on arguing with her, the temptation was gone when she said this last part. When her voice crumbled in more on itself, and she pressed her lips tightly once it was done. Silence reigned for a very long time. Before she eventually said: "I'll wait for a while…if he's asleep. I won't wake him."

After everything, she would be cruel to take his rest away from him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"And he just looks at me and goes 'Whoops!'" Jordan snickered. Kay cracked a tiny smile. "The stage is on fire, someone's running on with an extinguisher, Gunter's just standing there _pissed_ , Dina's trying to make sure her dress doesn't catch on fire, and all Cameron can offer is a 'Whoops.'" He grinned, fondness layering over his expression. At the same time, as he straightened, there was a deep sense of sorrow as well. Lingering there only because of the situation at hand. But still, he laughed again and shook his head as he turned for the counter. "He's the best boss. That had to be the best rehearsal we ever had."

"Even with the fire?" she asked.

" _Especially_ with the fire," he approved.

Her grin got a bit stronger. Dina rolled her eyes where she was sitting at the counter, but she didn't object. Mike was sitting next to her, just close enough so that their arms were hardly brushing. Just enough to let the other know that they were there. Jordan turned and put the tray of cookies down on the cooling rack; at this point, the entire kitchen reeked of chocolate chips. It had been his idea in the first place— if Cameron wasn't tempted to eat, then maybe he would be more inclined to have some of these. If kryptonite was Superman's weakness, Jordan claimed that these were Cameron's. Or…anything sweet, really, but cookies were what they had at the moment.

"You're forgetting the rehearsal we had on April Fool's day," Dina corrected after a moment. Reminiscing was doing her good. Though there was that same shadow of sorrow on her face, there was an affectionate softness, too. Kay perked and looked at her with enough curiosity to spur the story on. "You see, we needed to switch…Jonathan and Cameron needed to switch places for the next trick," she said, the name coming to her with difficulty. "But before they could, Cameron absolutely soaks a stagehand with a water gun – it was very childish, and I told him that afterwards – but you see, by the time the stagehand was turning around, Jonathan was—"

Screaming cut the story short at once. Dina's eyes flew open and her mouth snapped closed when screaming suddenly shattered the temporary peace that had been resting over the Archive. The four in the kitchen were locked in shock at first, too winded to do anything. The screaming only continued though. Blood-curdling, horrified, never-ending screaming that turned everyone's blood to ice. Kay was first to snap herself into motion. She whirled around and shoved herself away from the counter, her heart ramming hard against her ribcage as she took off in a sprint for Cameron's room. She was nearly tripping over herself, and she was painfully aware of how much her hands were shaking as she ran. The screaming was only more difficult to listen to as she ran closer.

Cameron's door was cracked; she burst inside without a single hesitation. Once she did, she straightened, her stomach dropping hard. Cameron was still asleep. With how ruined his throat was, his screams sounded like they'd gone through a shredder, or a garbage disposal. But they were choked with fear and panic deep enough to grab even her and yank her underneath the thick of it. He was curled up tightly – something that couldn't have been good for his ribs – and his muscles were locked with terror. She called out his name, but he still kept screaming, trapped in whatever dream he was still in.

The others were right behind her. Once she felt them all stop in the doorway, she did the opposite and forced herself into motion. She rushed over to the bed, stumbling a little bit as she propped a knee up on the mattress to bend low over him. "Cameron! Cameron!" she yelled, struggling to wrench his attention to her. But he still kept screaming— she was feeling sicker and sicker the longer she had to hear him screech. "Cameron, wake up! Listen to me, Cameron, Cameron, you're okay!" Her voice cracked on her reassurance. She might have realized her eyes were burning with tears, had she been focusing on anything other than him.

Cameron still shrieked. He twisted sharply – again, doing more harm than good – and his arms tucked upward as if to shield himself. Without thinking, Kay reached up and grabbed his wrists, trying to get him to stop hurting himself. His eyes snapped open with the hard latch, but she could see that there wasn't a light of clarity in them yet. They were wild and unfocused, too panicked to make sense of anything. And when he realized someone was holding on to him, his screams somehow grew even more wild and panicked. He started to thrash, fighting to get away as he screamed incoherent pleas and insults. Kay grimaced hard, trying to force him to stay still. He was going to hurt himself if she didn't! "Cameron, please!" He was sobbing, and it was taking everything inside her not to do the same. "Cameron, you were dreaming! You're safe, Cameron, you're—!"

" _Please stop_!" Cameron wailed, his hoarse voice almost impossible to make sense of. " _Stop, stop, please!"_ She felt like she was going to be sick. _"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm— Cameron Black, not— please stop pleasepleasestopI'msorrypleasestoppleasejustkillmepleasejustkillmeplease—"_

Kay was trying to compose herself enough to speak, but before she could, a hefty shove sent her staggering to the side. She barely managed to catch herself. She whirled around to see that Gunter had rushed in, practically knocking over everyone else to get to Cameron. "Get off of him!" he roared, sending her a harsh glare. He turned back to Cameron and tried to reason with him. "Cam— Cam, look at me!" he urged, reaching out and trying to put a hand down on his shoulder. "Cam, calm down, yeah!? Cam, you're—"

Cameron acted before he was given the chance for everything to come back to him. Kay's eyes flew wide when Cameron suddenly whirled out and punched Gunter in the face. The blow itself wasn't much at all— not for Gunter. He only stumbled backwards a little bit, more out of surprise than anything else. But the effect it had on Cameron was devastating. He'd punched with the fractured hand, and immediately upon contact, he screeched in absolute agony, twisting back on the bed and holding tightly with his less injured one. Tears had already been working their way down his face, but now they were streaming, and his shoulders jerked unevenly with punctured inhales.

The pain did one good thing: it caused him to still. And Kay took the chance to run back over. This time she was wiser and leaned out to put her hands gently on either side of his face, like she had back in the prison. He hadn't reacted badly then. And sure enough, this gesture didn't immediately cause him to recoil. She took in a wavering breath and forced her voice to be steady and gentle. "Cameron," she begged weakly. "Cameron, please look at me. I know it's you, Cameron, I know, you're _not_ Jonathan, and you're _not_ in any danger, Cameron, just _look at me_. _Please_."

He did. His hyperventilating beginning to stutter, Cameron turned to her and opened his eyes again to look at her. They were raw with unimaginable pain— mental and physical. But when they locked, she was more relieved than she'd ever been in her life to see that there was a spark of consciousness and recognition there. She pasted a smile on her face that she was sure would be too weak to pass off. Mindlessly, she had begun to move her thumbs gently back and forth over his cheeks, gaunter than normal. "You're okay, Cam," she breathed. "You're okay, I promise. I promise you, you're alright…"

Cameron was struggling to pick up the pieces. His eyes flickered over to Gunter, who was straightening, holding the side of his face. To Dina and Jordan and Mike, who were just behind the other two and simply acting the part of the horrified audience. The pain in his hand must have been blinding, but it didn't even seem to be registering to him. All that did manage to register was severe disappointment and sorrow and regret, and every emotion that existed between the three. That's all that hollowed out his sobs when he broke in on himself and began to cry.

Somehow, listening to his broken sobbing was even worse than hearing his mangled screams.

But still, Kay wasn't about to move. And Cameron never pushed her away.

She just stayed where she was, bent over him and holding his face gently in her hands.

Like she was trying to protect him from something.

Even though he'd already been damaged beyond repair.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She would have been heartless to question him after all that.

So she waited until the next day. She wasn't coming with any more news on Jonathan. They had leads…but that was about it. She wasn't surprised. Jonathan was a master of deception, just like his brother was…he may as well have disappeared in a puff of smoke on a stage. They would be having just as much luck in finding him, if that was the case. She was hoping Cameron would see this and she wouldn't have to actually tell him. For some reason, she didn't think she would be able to.

All day, she had heard his screaming echoing in her ears. She had seen the crazed and panicked look on his face. She had felt the waves of terror that had been rolling off of him. She'd had a foul taste in her mouth that no amount of water or forced-down food could wash away. And the weight on her chest had only grown and gotten heavier, up until the moment Dina let her inside. Crossing the threshold, she was already looking for a sign that something had changed. Gotten better. Even just a little bit. But Dina's smile was worn, and Jordan was asleep on the couch, in a position that suggested he'd just fallen down and lost consciousness. Gunter was standing with his back against the wall. When he saw her, he turned and walked down the hall without a word.

Dina must have seen the look on her face. "It's okay," she soothed weakly. "He doesn't mean it. He…just doesn't know what to do."

She nodded once. She couldn't say anything but: "How was he today?"

"He ate some," she replied, and Kay let out a slow breath. "And he's been drinking more, too; it helps his throat. He…he hasn't asked about Jonathan at all." And Kay understood that somehow this was even worse than if he'd been constantly pressing. The hurt in Dina's eyes was enough to attest to this. "He's…still upset after last night. I've told him over and over not to be, but…he's apologized to Gunter five times now. If he ever goes back in, he's sure to do it again." She shook her head. "His hand is killing him. I'm tempted to take him to the hospital again just to be sure he didn't do anything more to it. But…" She wilted considerably. "But I suppose…you're here to talk to him."

"I am." The two words almost stuck in her throat.

Dina just nodded. Kay started to turn and walk the way she'd gone last night when she spoke up and stopped her short. "He's…he's not in his room."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She wasn't sure what she was expecting Jonathan's room to look like. It wasn't that different from Cameron's. Less mementos from shows…more bookshelves that looked plenty rifled through. There was a desk in the corner with papers and notebooks and pencils…frozen mid-work that was now a year old. His bed was in the same place Cameron's was. She stared at him in bed for a moment, trapped in one more gap of hesitation. He might have been asleep. She reluctantly took a few steps inside. "Cameron?" she dared. The only sign he gave that he heard was a tiny, barely-there shift. "Cameron, it's me. Can I talk to you?"

A few seconds lasted several eternities. Until: "Okay."

The reply – the coherent, sensible one – brought a surprising amount of relief to shake her to the core. She never thought she would be so overjoyed to have a simple back-and-forth. But she knew she wouldn't be in due time. Kay took in a quick breath to brace herself, and she walked inside, slowly taking a seat on the edge of the bed so that Cameron had time to snap at her not to, if he wanted. But he wasn't even looking at her. He was staring off to the side, to the wall opposite of the bed. He looked tired. She wondered how long he'd been doing that. "How are you feeling, Cameron?"

The look in his eyes suggested that he was sick of the question. But he didn't answer. All he offered was what Dina warned her she would get. His voice was still just as ruined. After last night, it was even worse. "I'm…sorry about— I…wasn't…"

Frustration was building on his face, and she rushed to help. "No, Cameron, don't— please don't apologize. It's not your fault, at all." The exasperation stayed, though, fixed in place. It just wilted and weakened in sorrow at her fast reassurance. He still didn't look at her. It was like he couldn't. She knew it would only get worse, so she tried to go on quickly. Maybe if she did it fast, it would hurt less. Like a band-aid. "Cameron…do you think…you could tell me what happened?" she practically whispered. But it didn't matter. The room was so silent, she might as well have been shouting. Cameron closed his eyes. She tried to remain strong. "Can you tell me what Jonathan did? Anything he said? Could you tell me…?" She trailed off, hoping she didn't need to finish.

Which was a selfish wish.

The look on Cameron's face was a completely dead one. Of apathy, and numbness. The bruises on his face had blackened fully by now. The ones on his neck were greener. "Always working," he rasped. He barely had any voice at all. From the way it sounded, she was worried it was hurting him just to get anything out. "You should take a break once in a while, Agent." It sounded like he'd intended this as a joke. But there was far too much cynicism in his voice and face to make it so.

"Cameron…I want to find Jonathan for you. I want to bring him home, and I want to help him."

He scoffed, or maybe he tried to, but it came out more like a heavy exhale. His eyebrows pulled together, and for a moment it looked like the odd blankness was leaving. That his expression was crumbling, and he was going to cry, instead. But at the last second, he slammed the brakes and stopped himself. He just refocused on the wall, refusing to waver from it. "I'm not stupid, Kay," he whispered. It was all he could manage. Her heart spasmed in agony, but she kept silent. She would be heartless to interrupt him. "The FBI didn't care about him before…there's no way they actually care about helping him now."

"I don't care what the FBI wants to do," Kay replied. "I know what _I_ want to do. And what I want to do is help you. I want to help you in any way I can, Cameron." Her voice was in danger of wavering so she took in a deep breath and told herself to calm down. "And that starts _here_. I want to help you, but I have to know what happened." Cameron closed his eyes. Like if he didn't see her, she might melt away. "Can you tell me what Jonathan did? Was there a plan? Did you two—"

"He'll come back." The words were almost lost in the dark. But they silenced her immediately.

"…Do you know that?" she dared further. Cameron pulled the blanket up more over his face. When she got nothing, she pressed: ""Did Jonathan tell you he would be back?" Still, zilch. "Cameron, why didn't you call? Why didn't you tell someone that this happened?" She thought he saw him tuck just the tiniest bit tighter into himself. "Did Jonathan ask you not to? We could have gotten you out, we could have…helped you, Cameron, but you never—"

"He'll come back," he repeated. A record too broken to do anything but skip.

She drew her own conclusions. It wasn't that difficult a leap. For the three days that Cameron was in prison, and she had thought she had spoken to _him_ , she had had his glower engraved in her mind. The glare that Jonathan had shot her. She had thought, at the time, it had been Cameron. That was why it stuck with her so much. That anger, that finality. And what she had told him…his reaction…he wasn't acting with Cameron. Right? He couldn't have been. And the look on his face, now…she had never seen him look so desolate. She started to reach out for his arm. She stopped herself mid-reach. "Cameron…did he leave you there?" Her voice was too soft— too gentle. Taught from years of asking rattled and shell-shocked people questions that hurt her to ask as much as it hurt them to answer.

Cameron kept staring at the wall. She thought he would ignore her. Until: "…Yes." And the way he said this was almost enough to get her to put it all to a stop. It hurt her heart too much to hear— the hollowness in the answer, and the defeated ring it had. He didn't sound like Cameron at all. She didn't want to hear any more. She didn't want to force him to give any more.

But she had to.

"And…what happened afterwards?" she whispered.

This, he didn't respond to. But she saw his eyes get shinier in the dim light of the bedroom.

Her mouth was completely dry. "…Who did this to you, Cameron? What happened?"

He was purposefully not blinking, to keep the tears from falling. He stayed mute.

It felt like she was swallowing glass. "Did…Jonathan—?"

"No."

"…Okay," she whispered. "Then…who? What happened?"

Cameron's lips tightened, but they were starting to waver anyway.

She leaned closer. "Cameron, _please_ ," she begged, weakening herself. "I just need to help you. Please tell me—"

"Can you stop— can you stop asking me?" Cameron asked, reaching up with his good hand to press it against his forehead. She could see it trembling, just like his words were. "Can you please just stop—?"

"Cameron, I—" She closed her eyes, trying to remain delicate, but in control at the same time. Just get it out, she just had to get it out. "Cameron, I _know_ , I _think_ I know, and I need you to know that it doesn't mean—"

" _Kay_ —" He was getting worked up. He was breathing heavier; his voice was sounding thicker.

She was struggling not to fall into the same trap, but it was getting harder. She tried to rush on. "Cameron, if you just tell me everything that happened, I can _do_ something. I can get into contact with the right people, I can help track Jonathan down better, if you know where he went, I can make that person _pay_." Her voice turned unnaturally acidic with this threat. "I can— I can talk to the prison and—"

He was pulling the blanket tighter around himself, turning away from her. "I don't want—"

"You don't have to go into detail, you don't have to explain, you just—"

" _Kay, please, I can't_ —"

"The name, the circumstances, the time, you know how it works, you've been with me for—"

" _Kay_!" He yelled again, like he'd screamed last night. Hoarse and quieter but filled with enough aching sorrow to render her mute. She snapped her mouth closed and flinched backwards, like he'd hit her. He was still looking away, and by now he couldn't hold his tears back. But he didn't bother reaching up and wiping them away. Maybe because he knew by now it wouldn't have a point. Silence swallowed up the space behind his cry. It pushed down on their shoulders, oppressive and earsplitting. Choking. She almost worried it would leave bruises on her neck, to match Cameron's.

She didn't speak. She just waited for him.

When he did, his voice was so hollow it could hold water. It was just a rasp. "What was it like when you found your sister?" he breathed. The question shocked her; she couldn't respond. It came out of left field. But he must have anticipated her reaction, because after a few seconds, he just went on. "Was it the worst thing that's ever happened to you?" Her face fell. She blinked and looked down at her hands. "Do you want to talk about that? Ever?"

The dead space that was offered was enough of an answer.

His expression was starting to break. But she could tell he was trying to keep firm when he mumbled: "So _please_ don't ask me the same question."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"How _dare_ you have the _audacity_ to think that the peppermint mocha frappe is better than the pumpkin spice frappe," Jordan raved. Dina sighed and looked off to the side with an expression that was pleading with God for patience. Kay was leaning so that her elbows rested on the counter; she was staring down absently, half-listening to the so-called 'fight.' Gunter wasn't as good about hiding his exasperation. The argument wasn't going anywhere, she knew. There wasn't a point to it. It was just there to fill the silence. To Jordan's credit, he was just trying to make it easier for everyone. "The pumpkin spice frappe is the _perfect_ drink, and there are _eight fundamental reasons why. Firstly_ —"

Unfortunately, he wasn't able to finish before there was the sudden sound of a slam. It was what they had all been listening for in these past forty-five minutes, and they immediately sprang into action. Dina shot off at the head of them all, and Kay was right behind her. Gunter and Jordan were fighting for the tail end. They rushed down to the bathroom, and Dina knocked on the door, her expression crowded with worry. "Cameron!?" she called. There wasn't an answer, and she put her ear up to the wood. "Cameron, are you okay!? Did you fall!?"

They all became aware of pained gasps on the other end of the door. And choking, like he was having difficulty even doing that. Kay took a step closer, and Dina shook her head. "Cameron, I'm coming in, alright?" she called. She waited five more seconds, which seemed much longer than it actually was. When nothing happened again, she didn't waste any more before she let herself inside. Kay rushed in without thinking, and her lungs were rendered paralyzed.

Cameron was standing at the sink, holding to the counter with his good hand and flinching hard. His hair was still wet from the shower, and though he'd managed to put on his pajama bottoms, apparently the same couldn't be said for his shirt. Agony was written harsh across his face as he ducked his head low; Kay could imagine that stretching his arms up to try and manage the feat himself had been too much, between his ribs and his right arm. He was gasping like he'd just finished running a marathon— the simple act of showering looked to be the equivalent of such. It was the first time he'd tried it since getting back.

Standing there and seeing the state he was in rooted Kay immobile and silent. Or maybe it was just seeing all the wounds that were usually covered by clothes. His sides were mottled and dark with bruises, painful to even look at, let alone probably feel. His right arm wasn't inflamed anymore, and the team had been working hard to make sure no infection set in. But it was still an eyesore— the twisted knife carving making anyone sick at the mere glimpse. The skin was pinched around the thick black sutures, but the letter was still glaringly obvious. Kay hadn't seen it much, because Cameron kept it covered, and dressed. But every night, she had laid awake and thought of the injury…wondering who it had come from, why it had come in the first place, what it stood for, dreading what Cameron had felt and done as the torture was inflicted. Seeing it now only brought that all back up.

Her chest felt empty, and she realized too late that her eyes were misting over. However, she realized something even later. Her eyes caught and slid upwards, and she stiffened when she saw that Cameron was actually looking at her for once. And he'd seen every inch of the sorrow and dismay on her face. Their eyes locked briefly, Cameron's raw not only with pain, but now something far too close to shame, hers quickly going from sorrowful to apologetic. She opened her mouth, but Cameron ducked away before she got the chance to speak. His shoulders hunched, and he held tighter to the sink, his arms shaking even more as he fought to keep himself up.

Dina was rushing to his side, her expression stricken. "Darling, you should have called— here, let me help, I can help you." He flinched hard, locking his jaw back as she crouched down to pick up the shirt that had fallen to the ground. She threw a look back at the others, warning them to clear out. Immediately, Jordan and Gunter obeyed, but Kay couldn't bring herself to. She just stayed put where she was, staring forlornly at her friend, suffering and in pain.

Even when the door closed, she didn't move.

Even when the door closed, she could still see the ashamed look that had been on his face.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jordan was pretty well-known for his late-night adventures down to the kitchen. For cookies, or brownies, or ice cream, you name it— but it wasn't even limited to desserts, because one night he'd gone and made an entire foot-long deli sandwich. Dina hadn't been happy about that one – he'd taken up practically every ingredient in the kitchen for it – but Cameron had just been impressed. So here he was tonight, coming down again thinking of the leftover Chinese he knew was in the fridge. Cam hadn't eaten too much of his and he'd said that he didn't really want any more at all. So Jordan was pretty sure that he wouldn't mind if he took care of that for him.

However, halfway to the kitchen, he stopped. His forehead creased, and he looked down at his watch, just to double-check. But no, he wasn't mistaken— it was midnight. Cameron had gone back to Jonathan's room after dinner – he couldn't be up for very long as it was – and Dina and Gunter had gone to bed about an hour ago. The only reason Jordan was up was to rifle for something to eat.

Everyone was asleep…

So why was there water running?

He glanced at the fridge, seriously debating whether or not to just dive for the chicken fried rice anyway. But curiosity outweighed food. For once. He frowned and turned, veering away from the kitchen and heading for the bathroom. It wasn't the shower that was on, it was the sink— he could make the distinction the closer he walked. Getting to the door he stopped and knocked, his eyebrows pinching together. "…Cameron?" he called out, not really sure who was on the other side. "Can I come in?" There wasn't a response, but given that the sink was running, Jordan decided to just reach out and try anyway. He'd open it slow, to give whoever it was a chance to yell, but worry kind of outweighed politeness at the moment. If it was Cam, what if he'd fallen or something? Why was he even up?

Jordan opened the door and did a double-take. Cameron was standing at the sink, the water on full blast. He was brushing his teeth. Furiously, and fast, like he only had five seconds and was just trying to do the best he could. His head was lowered, but Jordan could still see the expression on his face. It looked like he was struggling not to be sick, or fighting not to completely freak out. He spat out the toothpaste with a barely-withheld gag. And Jordan watched as he immediately turned and reached for the tube once more, to do it all over again. The water was pooled inches deep in the sink. There was no telling how long he had been here doing this.

"Cameron?" Jordan repeated, louder this time.

Immediately, he jerked, dropping everything. His toothbrush splashed into the water, but he paid no mind. His head snapped up and he turned wide eyes over to Jordan. He just stayed put in the doorway, not even trying to hide his alarm. Shock and the tiniest bit of fear had flared across Cameron's face at the sudden entrance, but once he came back to himself and recognized who it actually was, a huge smile spread over his face. Yet another thing that worried Jordan— he hadn't smiled in days, and here he was in the bathroom at midnight, after having used up probably half of the toothpaste tube, grinning so huge and wide that he looked half-crazed. "Jordan!" He was too eager, too. Way too peppy. "You're up!"

"Yeah— I…are you okay?" he stuttered. "Why are _you_ up? It's really late, Cameron, and you're—"

"It's not important. At all," Cameron scoffed, the water still running in the background. Jordan was looking from it, to him, still baffled. Inwardly, he was wondering if he should go wake Dina up. Cam didn't look good at all. Aside from the weird look on his face, he wasn't the greatest color, either. He was swaying a little bit. Before he could decide, Cameron was sweeping ahead. "But I'm so glad you're awake! I was actually planning on _getting_ you up, but now I don't have to. How great of timing is _that_?" Jordan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Cam didn't seem to care. " _You_ are the perfect person! Dina would say no, and I don't think Gunter would have as good a time, and even if he did he'd probably pretend he didn't because he's like that for some reason." He was talking about a mile a minute. His hands were shaking. Still, he beamed. "But you're perfect because you'll have _tons_ of fun – we _both_ will – and you won't say no either, _and_ you're the best liar, but I told you that already, didn't I?"

"Y-Yeah, you did…" Jordan mumbled.

Cameron just smiled and stared at him expectantly.

He wilted a little, his unease only mounting. "Uh…I'm not too…sure what you're talking about…"

Cameron jerked, blinking fast like he'd just realized he hadn't actually said anything yet. "Oh! _Duh_." He shut the water off. When he turned back, his grin was somehow even brighter. And Jordan's stomach clenched when he just declared happily: "I have an _amazing_ idea."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"We're only going to stay for a little while," Jordan edged a little hesitantly. He had to stifle a small sigh. "We're probably not even supposed to be here in the first place…if Dina knew, she'd have probably cut my head off twenty minutes ago." Cameron glanced at him. They were sitting together at the bar, at the far end, away from the other people that were out and about at 12:30 am. Cameron had proposed they go out and do something, and Jordan of course hadn't had the heart to say no. Not when he had looked at him so hopefully. He could never disappoint Cameron— he had a thing about that. And besides, what was the harm? It wasn't like Cameron could stay on his feet long anyway. They'd be here thirty minutes tops.

"That's why I asked you and not Dina," Cameron exhaled, and now he was a little bit more like his old self. He wasn't shaking, or smiling too much, like before. In fact, he seemed tired. But all the same, he offered Jordan a warm look. "Thank you," he tacked on. "For agreeing. We can have some fun! We deserve some fun, don't we? At this point?" Jordan hesitated, but after a second, he smiled and nodded. Sure they did. Why not? Cameron brightened a tad. Genuinely, actually brightened. It was like turning a dimmer switch a fraction to the left, but it was a difference all the same.

The bartender came back and set two shot glasses down, one for each person. Cameron immediately rushed to grab his, but Jordan made no move for the one in front of him. Cam blinked, and his face fell. A fact Jordan noticed immediately and felt a pang of regret for. "Cheers!" Cameron urged, holding his up in midair. Jordan still seemed skeptical. His face dropped even more. "Come on, you've gotta drink too," he tried weakly. His smile fractured as he added softer: "Otherwise it's just depressing."

"I have to drive us home," Jordan pointed out.

Cameron blinked. He looked down at his glass. The sorrow he'd carried with him – so unnaturally and out of character for him – ever since he'd gotten back, was creeping into place once more. He gave up easy, something else that wasn't really like him. It turned Jordan's stomach, and it only got worse when Cameron started to raise it up to his mouth anyway. As he did, his long sleeve pulled back to flash the gauze around his arm. Jordan shook his head and made the quick resolve. "It won't hurt," he assured, and Cameron looked up at once, his eyes flashing with surprise and a bit of light again. It made Jordan even more certain and he smiled. He picked up the shot glass and leaned over to tap it against Cameron's. "Cheers, Boss," he chirped. "Really glad to have you back."

Cameron smiled. Another genuine one.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"And _sixthly,_ the pumpkin spice frappe is— are you listening to me!?" Jordan demanded over the music. Cameron blinked, shaking his head to clear it as he looked over at his friend. He nodded hard, mumbling something about how of course he was paying attention, they were on the fourth reason, how could he not be paying attention? Jordan mimicked his nod, jamming a pointer finger down against the table for emphasis. "Good, because the fourth—" He frowned. "We're not on the fourth reason we're on the sixth. We're on the sixth reason!" he corrected. Cameron blinked, confused. "Where'd four come from?"

Cameron exhaled, shaking his head and throwing his arms up listlessly. "That's what I'm saying," he grumbled, and the reply must have made some kind of sense to Jordan because he didn't question it.

"Anyway, the sixth reason…is that it's good," Jordan pressed, shaking his head. "The peppermint…thing— that tastes like dirt."

Cameron made a face. "I think it tastes good. It tastes like _peppermint_ — that's what it's supposed to taste like. Otherwise…it'd be false advertising." He reached out and twirled the empty glass in front of him, his eyes still narrowed. "There'd be…lawsuits. And stuff. Wouldn't the pumpkin one taste more like dirt? It's…pumpkins are from the dirt. Peppermint…where does that come from?" He tilted his head. "Are peppermints from the dirt too?"

Jordan wasn't listening. "And seventhly…you know, like…Halloween. That's the seventh reason."

"Where do peppermints come from?" Cameron demanded, louder. The way he asked this suggested a possible existential crisis from the lack of knowing. "It's a _plant_ , right? Are they plants? Then maybe it _could_ taste like dirt…" He looked over at Jordan, repeating: " _Where do peppermints come from_!?" His voice had gotten a little stronger recently, but with the music playing overhead and the conversation around them, it still wasn't a walk in the park to hear him.

"I don't know, Google it!"

Cameron blinked, reaching into his pocket. He frowned when he came up empty, and he checked his other one. Before his eyes flashed and he was hit with it. He smiled and broke out into laughter, shaking his head as he bent over and thudded his forehead down on the bar top. The hunch caused pain to stab at his sides, but that just made him laugh more. Jordan looked down at him with bleary curiosity, and Cameron just kept laughing. "I don't have my phone!" he snickered, like this was most hilarious thing he could imagine. "My phone— don't even know where my phone is," he exhaled heavily.

Jordan straightened up. "Oh! Did Jonathan take that?" Cameron's eyes closed he nodded. "What else did he take?"

Cameron gaze another wheezy laugh. "My happiness," he joked, the laughter dying off faster this time. And once it did, his face fell back into apathy. He kept his head down, but he moved so that his cheek was against the counter and he could look at Jordan. He was disoriented already, after only three shots. It was worse for him, because he still wasn't eating much. His words were slurred, not helping with the difficulty in communication. The look in his eyes was far-away and muddled. His voice was a dead mumble when he spoke next. "I don't think there's a plan…" Cameron's eyes began to prickle. "I think he left me there because he doesn't care about me anymore…"

Jordan seemed not at all sure what he meant. But he put his chin on his hand and listened anyway as his friend went on. "How could he do that?" Cam croaked. "Maybe…maybe our entire life, he just hated me…always…and he just— pretended, all those birthdays, and Christmases, and— and shows. Maybe he was just pretending every time, and I was just too stupid to see it…" His voice was getting more and more choked. "Maybe I deserved it. Maybe that's what I get for being so stupid and self-absorbed and…stupid, and dumb." He put a hand to his face, shaking his head just a little bit. "Maybe this is what I get for being stupid," he cried.

"Hey! Woah, woah!" Jordan announced, shaking his head fast. He leaned over and prodded him in the head a little roughly. Cameron picked it up, looking miserable. "Nuh-uh— we're not gonna do that," he dismissed. "You're…a lot of things, Cameron Black! You're a magician, you're a celebrity, you're funny, you're cool, you're an official FBI Observer…" (He ignored Cameron's crestfallen mumble of: "That's not even a thing.") "But what you're _not_ …is _stupid_. You're not stupid— you're not any of those things! Could a stupid person make a plane disappear? I don't think so. I know plenty of stupid people that can't make a plane disappear." He put a hand down on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Look— you didn't deserve what Jonathan did. _At all_." Cameron gave him a tiny smile, the gesture watery. "And once we find Jonathan, we're gonna _tell 'im_ that." He made a face and leaned closer. "You know Dina's going to like…murder him? She's probably making plans right now."

Cameron looked back at the table top. Despite the reassurances, his face was quick to fall again. His eyes welled more, and his throat was getting hotter. He remembered Jonathan's angry look. The declaration ringing in his ears: 'I don't want to escape with you.' He reached up and tugged his sleeve down, like he was worried it wasn't covering his bandaging. "I'm not drunk enough," he whispered. Jordan immediately ordered more shots. Once they came, Cameron didn't even wait. He just snatched the glass up and choked the liquid down, ignoring how it hurt his throat.

Jordan did the same, but not before he showed his phone to Cameron and declared: "Peppermint _does_ come from plants."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _He was a boy! She was a girl! Can I make it any more obvious!? He was a punk! She did ballet! What more can I say!?"_ Jordan and Cameron were both singing about two full pitches off-key, and way too loud, though in Cameron's case it was more like regular volume. At this point they'd both forgotten what bar they were even at, but apparently at 1:40 am is when two things happened. One: it was when the party officially started, because more and more people were rolling in. And two: it was when they started taking requests over what songs were played. Five and a half shots in, and Cameron had slammed the hand that did not have a fracture on the bar, ignoring the slight pain, to loudly proclaim that he had the perfect song.

" _He wanted her! She'd never tell! Secretly she wanted him as well! But all of her friends stuck up their nose! They had a problem with his baggy clothes!"_ Jordan had had six shots— unlike Cameron he wasn't starting to feel sick yet. He wasn't concentrating on much of anything, which explained why neither of them were thinking about how in the world they were going to get home. That was to be thought of later. For now, they were having _fun_. Cameron's head was foggy enough to block everything else out, at least for the time being. Right now, he was too disoriented to do anything but try and remember the words to this song. And though it hurt his throat to belt it out, he did anyway, because Jordan was laughing, and so was he, every so often.

" _He was a skater boy, she said: 'See ya later boy!' He wasn't good enough for her! She had a pretty face, but her head was up in space! She needed to come back down to earth!"_ The alcohol was strong, and it numbed the pain— all the pain, not just the physical. He wasn't thinking about that supply closet, or how Dina looked at him when she thought he didn't notice her staring, or the way everyone's voice was softer than normal, or the way they wore their pity on their sleeve for everyone to see _. "Five years from now, she sits at home, feeding the baby, she's all alone! She turns on TV, guess who she sees? Skater boy rockin' up MTV!"_ He wasn't thinking about how Jonathan had left him and was likely never going to come back, and that now whenever he thought of his brother, instead of remembering all the good things about him, he would just remember the hostility on his face, and the fact that he had left. He wasn't thinking about any of it.

" _She calls up her friends, they already know. And they've all got tickets to see his show! She tags along and stands in the crowd. Looks up the man that she turned down!"_

For now, he was just happy. Feeling the closest to normal he had since this whole thing had started.

" _He was a skater boy, she said: 'See ya later boy!' He wasn't good enough for her…!"_

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Seven shots in and Cameron lost track of Jordan. He didn't know where he went. All he knew was that his vision was warping and blurring by this point. Everything shivered in front of him, like it was cold. His movements were uncoordinated and awkward. But that was okay because he'd just taken to sitting here anyway, swaying a little bit back and forth. Sometimes he felt like he was about to fall right off the stool, but he never tried to catch himself. There wasn't much more damage he could do, right? What was a fall? Nothing, in comparison, right? It was fine.

He just felt sick. He felt really sick— like he might _get_ sick.

 _The last time I got sick was when—_

Yeah, but that's okay. It's fine.

 _Mind over matter. If you don't mind it, it doesn't matter. Just like—_

Okay. But no. He cringed blearily, shaking his head and nearly capsizing at the nausea that simple motion caused. He needed…another drink. He needed another one, because he wasn't drunk enough. When would he be drunk enough? When was it going to be enough? Just keep going…

They _kept going. How long did it even— must have been—_

 _Yes_ , but it didn't _matter_. Was the thing. Was the tiny little thing.

He swayed a bit more forward this time, and in the process his elbow slid and hit something. Groggily, he looked down and it took him six full seconds to get his vision narrowed enough to see what it was and then make the actual connection. Jordan left his phone here. His phone…he could…use the phone, to…call… _He hates you so much. If you told him what happened he'd probably laugh. He'd probably be glad. Maybe he deserves to. You should call him so he can laugh at you._ Cameron fumbled for a moment but moved so he could grab it. His sides hurt…even breathing was hard. He wanted to lay down. He hadn't sat up for this long before. He wanted to go back home.

He had to concentrate to turn the phone on. And it took a full minute for him to figure out how to dial the number. And to get the right number in the first place. But once he did and it started ringing, he dragged it up to his ear. By the time he did, it was on its fourth ring. He waited, patiently, for someone to answer. He'd take anyone. He wanted to talk to _anyone_. But no. He got the voicemail, again— the same one he'd gotten in the prison. The same bright person on the other end that _must_ have been him, but he didn't recognize right now.

There was that beep again.

"JJJJ—" He grimaced, suffering through another wave of nausea. He choked for a second, like he really was going to vomit. But it passed. He opened his eyes again and tried to start again. "Johnny," he said, with all the warmth and love he had when they were kids. When Jonathan would help him out of a trap and hug him tightly to tell him he did a good job. When they would stay up late watching television even though their dad said not to, because it was their secret and only theirs. When they would practice together alone and laugh off their mistakes, because they both knew how hard their father was on them. Whenever he'd looked up to Jonathan and trusted him with every fiber of his being and—

Cameron was crying. "Um…'m s'rry," he managed thickly. He started to lay his head back down. It felt better that way. He just wanted to feel better… "I'm…out. Kay got— me out," he slurred. "I tried to— stay, f'r you, but— but I—" He cringed hard, his shoulders quickly beginning to shake. He was too far gone to try and hold back his sobs. It was a good thing now, that his voice was shot. Not a lot of people would hear, over all the noise. Maybe Jonathan wouldn't either. But he wouldn't in the first place, because he wasn't going to listen to this message, anyway. "I couldn't…I couldn't, I—" He gasped sharply, turning more into the table. "I messed up," he sobbed. "And they—…"

He flinched. "Please t'll me you're comin' back," he begged in a cry. "Please come back home…I'll…won't even talk to you, if you don' want, I just…want you to be happy…" He gasped again. "'Cause you weren' happy with— me, I want…you to be happy, you're my brother. And I l've you, and you…don' love me, and that's okay…I don't love me either…" He had to pause and wait out another spell. He swallowed hard a couple times to keep his bile back. "'M a…horrible person," he confessed weakly, once he could. He was bouncing from one topic to another, like it was leapfrog. "I…deserved it…but please…don' be out there. With her. Please…have a plan, 'cause if you don't, then I—" He broke off. It didn't matter. Not anymore.

He just sniffed. His voice broke in half. "You were always the better one," he cried. "I don'…know why it was ever…I'm nothing…now." He crumbled in on himself. It only got worse. "'m…nothing…anymore." He tried to reach out for the shot glass that was nearest to him, wondering if it had more in it. If there was anything he could force down to make things better— easier. But he used his broken hand, and he couldn't get a grip on it. It slipped within two seconds, thankfully not high enough to shatter. But he cringed at the thud it made, feeling his stomach twist. "S'ry," he apologized, too out of it to realize Jonathan couldn't find fault with him dropping something considering he wasn't actually there. "They— broke m' hand…I was…tryin' to get them off, but…they held me down, 'nd I couldn' breathe, I…" He couldn't keep going. His voice wasn't working right. His throat was too hot. He sounded too weird.

He just closed his eyes as tightly as he could and repeated the fuzzy apology. "S'ry…'m so s'ry, 'm…"

'Thank you for leaving a voicemail! If you are satisfied with your message, please—'

This time, Cameron didn't listen. His hand went limp and the phone dropped.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Kay's phone was ringing. She was tempted to ignore it. Whoever it was could wait until a godlier hour of the morning. She was an early riser herself, pretty okay as soon as she got her coffee, but this was ridiculous. A glance at her clock told her she had quite a while before she even had to think about getting up. So ignoring it was definitely on her mind. Until she rolled over and shifted to see her phone on the bedside table, and she saw the name that was flashing back at her.

Jordan was calling her. At 2:15 in the morning.

Something was wrong.

Cameron.

She was up in a flash, panic rushing through her as she lunged for the device and answered it as fast as she could, worried she would already be too late. But she got there in time; when she put it up to her ear, she could hear noises on the other line. Loud clamor, like there were a bunch of other people. Her heart kept ramming against her ribcage. Did something happen? Were they at the hospital? "Jordan?" she demanded, more than alert. There wasn't a reply at first, and she started to throw off her covers. Already mapping out what she should throw on during her rush out the door. "Jordan, what's going on? Is everything okay? How is Cameron?"

"Kay…"

She stopped at once, her eyes rounding out. It wasn't Jordan on the other end. She could hardly hear him, with everything else. But he didn't sound like himself. Something was still wrong. "Cameron?" She sat back in bed, but she stared at the opposite wall, her forehead creased. "Cameron, is something wrong? What— where are you, what are you doing? It's loud." He was still on bedrest, wasn't he? He was getting up more and more but never for very long.

"It's crowded— 's too crowded."

"What?" She held the phone so it was flush against her ear. "It's crowded?" she clarified. "Cameron, where are you? Where is crowded?"

"I…don' know where Jordan— it's too crowded, 's too crowded I can't— 'm s'ry—"

"Cameron, are you _drunk_?" she demanded. His words were slurring, and there was a thickness to his voice that made it drag. "Are you at a _bar_?" He couldn't be! Why in the world would he be in a bar!? And why in the world was Jordan missing!? Jordan took him to a bar and then lost track of him!? She shook her head, taking in a couple slow breaths to steady herself. "Cameron, Cameron, listen to me," she pleaded. "You need to tell me where you are, okay? I need to come and get you." She was up again, rushing for her closet to throw something on. "You shouldn't be out, Cameron, you need to be home."

"'m s'ry…"

She closed her eyes tightly. Her heart felt like it was being sliced open. "Don't apologize, Cameron, just tell me where you are."

"There's— too many people—"

"I know, so you need to tell me where you are!" She spoke louder, and slower. Silently begging him to understand. How much had he had to drink? "Tell me where you are and I'll fix this, Cameron! Tell me what bar you're at!"

He hesitated, and while he did she was yanking on clothes. Jeans a random t shirt; she wasn't thinking of appearances, now. She was throwing her coat on and yanking her keys up by the time he replied. "R'mona…" Ramona— she knew where that was. Okay. She started to tell him it would be alright, and that she'd get there soon, when he stumbled on before she could. "I jus' wanted to stop…thinking, I ask'd 'im to— bring me here, 's my fault, everythin' is my fault…"

She rushed out the door, unlocking her car and starting it up. "It's not your fault, Cameron, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong," she reassured, making her voice overtly sweet. "I'll be there in ten minutes. Okay?"

"I can' breathe…'s too crowded, 's too— I can't—" She shook her head, flinching as she listened to his voice begin to thin and get away from him. This was _bad_ — what in the world had Jordan been thinking!? Taking him out was one thing, leaving him alone completely drunk was another! If he hadn't had a phone, what could have happened!? His speech was a garbled mess of apologies and hitched breaths. He was starting to panic, and the thought of him having another episode like a couple nights ago in a bar filled with strangers was horrifying even to her. Cameron would be mortified.

"Cameron, Cameron, it's fine. I'm almost there. You can breathe, Cameron, I promise. Trust me on that." She was on her way now, practically flooring it. What are the odds there would be police out and about at this hour? Probably likely, but it wasn't a worry too much on her mind. What _was_ on her mind, was calming Cameron down. "Hey, I don't…think I ever told you about the time I punched my best friend in the face, did I?" She plucked the story out of thin air. Cameron said nothing on the other end, but he wasn't rushing on with senseless apologies, so she took that as him listening. She went on and hoped that was the case. "I was in middle school, and it was her birthday. We were all camping out in the woods, because she loved nature, but she also loved scary stories.

"So we were all roasting marshmallows around the campfire, and we were all telling these scary stories. Little things…usually they wouldn't be too bad, but it was dark and we were all alone in the middle of the woods. So it seemed much scarier than it really was, at least to us. So after we tell a bunch of these stories, we were going to go down to the bathrooms that were on the campsite— before we went to bed? So we were walking and I was at the front of the group and my friend was right behind me. And as we were walking, she sees a frog, and apparently she was deathly afraid of frogs, so she screams as loud as she can when she sees this. And of course I had no idea what she was screaming about, and I was so scared from the ghost stories from before. So I act without thinking, and for some reason I just turn around and I punch her in the face. For no reason at all. I punched the birthday girl, and she and my other friends never let me live it down." She hesitated, before she tried: "So…don't apologize to Gunter too much," she tried to joke. "I never apologized to Katrina. So."

Cameron was quiet as he digested the story.

After about a minute of silence, which Kay let him have for as long as he needed, he spoke. It was yet another: "'m s'ry…"

"Don't apologize, Cameron," she repeated. "Jordan shouldn't have taken you out, I'll—"

"Nnno," he slurred. "'m s'ry I can't—" His voice was absolutely heartbreaking to listen to when he spoke again. "'m s'ry I can't look at you," he sobbed.

Her throat was quickly swelling closed. She tried to ignore it. "What do you mean?" she found herself asking. Even though she knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I can' look at you 'nymore…I can' look at 'nyone, but you're the hardest…"

She held the steering wheel tighter. "It won't always be this hard. It'll get easier and easier. I promise."

There was an odd noise on the other end. It took a second to realize he was sobbing under his breath. "He left me there," he croaked, and somehow her grip tightened even more on the wheel. "I was gonna break 'im out, we were gonna leave together. But he told me he didn' want to leave with me. 'nd— when I woke up, I was in…'nd he was gone, 'nd so was the map, 'nd…'nd I thought he was comin' back, I waited for 'im, but there was 'nother— I was tryin' to help, I—" It was agony just listening. Hearing him get more and more worked up. His voice was in pieces by now. She could hardly make out what he was saying, between his crying and the incoherence thanks to the alcohol. "They tied me up— couldn't…fight, I tried I tried fighting I tried to— they held me down, 'nd—"

"That's okay, Cameron," she consoled. He was breathing faster and falling deeper into his pit of panic. This was enough. "That's all you need to tell me, you don't need to tell me anything else right now, that's just fine. Thank you. And—" She felt ill. A combination of harrowing sadness and blinding rage was building like bile in the back of her throat. It took all her willpower to keep her voice soft for him. "I'm almost there, Cameron, I'll take you back home. You and Jordan both. Everything is going to be fine." She paused. And when she added this part, there was no saving her voice from thickening with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Cameron," she choked out. "I'm so sorry…"

His reply wasn't what she was expecting. "What'd…Johnny say?"

She blinked a couple times, taking another turn. "I…Cameron I haven't talked to Jonathan since—"

"You said he…said somethin'. To you. Before…what'd…?"

She stiffened. Oh.

'No more promises, Kay.'

Her stomach twisted. She was mute for some time, before she eventually took the selfish response. "We can talk about that later, Cameron."

His voice was hollow and tearful when he simply accepted the refusal. "…'kay…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She ran into the bar to see that it was indeed crowded. Unnaturally so, even for a weekend in New York. Her heart was in her throat as she whirled around, trying to find where Cameron could be. Or even Jordan. But to her sheer relief, she found Cameron first. He was near the far corner of the bar, as far away from other people as he could probably figure to get in his state. He'd pulled out a chair so that he could slouch against the wall. She didn't have to look twice at him to realize that he was in horrible shape. He was pale and shaking, and it looked like at this point, even the smallest of breaths was enough to make him grimace. His ribs were not thanking him at all for this trip out. And though she had no idea how many drinks he'd had, she could tell the number was too high. He was so drunk he didn't even hear her calling his name. She had to walk up to him and crouch so that they were eye-level before he realized she was there.

She looked him over, worry and pain crowding her features. "Cameron, I'm here," she murmured, loud enough so that he might hear. He shifted, cringing at the pain it inflicted. She started to reach out and grab onto his arms to help him up, but the moment her fingers wrapped around them he was stiffening and yanking himself away. She remembered herself too late, taking her hands back with a hushed: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Cameron closed his eyes tight, in a mixture of what looked like frustration and lingering fear. It was hard to tell with how spacey he was.

Kay moved without thinking, to what had worked before. She held his face gently in her hands, smoothing her thumbs over his cheeks, and when he looked at her, she smiled. "We're going to go home," she reassured. "But I need to get you up first, Cameron. Okay? We'll go slow, I know you're in pain. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Cameron." He didn't react badly this time, and when she moved to loop his good arm over her neck, he was just as compliant. She held him carefully, trying to avoid his bigger injuries. And once he was up, she could start walking for the car again. They were small, shuffling steps. And it was difficult to weave their way through the other bar patrons.

Cameron only cried out lowly every so often, at a misstep, or when they brushed against someone on accident. Kay heard each one with a heavy heart and apologized every time. She reassured him kindly that they were almost there, that he was doing well, that soon he'd be back in bed and this night would be over. Anything she could say to make it better. Seeing him now, and all the pain he was in, and hearing the shattered words he'd croaked over the phone was enough to make her fall apart. The mental images she could pair with each injury was sickening. She had suspected this entire time, but now that it was certain, somehow it was even worse. She tried not to think about it. To just focus on him.

She got him back to the car, first. She would go back in for Jordan and drag him out with a lot more force and a lot more yelling. She might not even let him in— she might just shove him in the trunk and slam it closed. But Cameron couldn't stay in that bar; the sooner he get out, the better. She let him in in the back and let him lay down there across the seats, because he looked so nauseous. She got him situated and made sure he would be alright. Before she leaned down and put a hand back on his cheek, to make sure he was listening. "I'll be right back, Cameron," she promised. "I have to go get Jordan."

Cameron's eyes pried themselves open, but they caught on something else before he could look at her. They focused down on his arm instead, and the gauze that was poking out from under his sleeve. Kay watched nervously, but only weakened in confusion when his eyes lit up. "Ohhhhh my God," he mumbled, talking like he had a mouthful of something. A smile twitched around the edges of his lips as he let his head fall back on the seat. "I fiiiinally get it." He closed his eyes and his smile got a tiny bit stronger. She hardly heard his scoff. "Snitches get stitches," he giggled, oblivious to the horrified look that came over her face.

She was stuck there for a heartbeat, looking from his arm, to the expression on his face, as it faded back into numbness. Eventually, she wrenched her voice back. "Cameron, I'll— I'll be right back, okay?"

His eyes cracked back open. Even though they were only open a little bit, the sudden sadness there was impossible to overlook. Quietly, he rasped: "C'n you stay with me…? Just…f'r a…little bit?"

Tears blinded her. So sudden and so quick, it took her breath away. But her response came at once. "Of course, Cameron. Of course I'll stay with you." She paused, looking over the car. She turned and sat down on the floor, letting her legs hang out over the edge. This way, her head was by his and he didn't have to move. She looked over him, feeling distinctly as though she was suffering a horrible, tragic death. Something choking, like drowning or suffocation— something where you knew there was an end to it, but you just weren't sure where that end was, exactly.

She leaned to the side, to rest her head on a part of the seat Cameron wasn't on. His eyes were closed. His breathing was deeper than it had been before. She hoped that meant he was falling asleep. That he was resting. That he was given a respite. She would linger with him here for a little bit, and sneak away to find Jordan. Bring them both back and get Cameron back into bed and make sure he was okay. And then hopefully find the ending to this. Not for her. But for him. She would find his end for him. Because he hadn't even deserved for all of this to even start in the first place.

She stayed there beside him. Listening to him breathe and finding herself trying to seek comfort from this tiny thing.

Finding herself curling closer and closer to him.

Not knowing whether it was for his benefit, or for hers.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm dumb and the first go around I accidentally uploaded chapter two about three-fourths incomplete! I have no idea why the full document didn't take. So I apologize, and if you were just as confused as I was about the ending of chapter two it is now fixed! I apologize haha. Please do not read this chapter before you go back and take a look at that you'll be severely confused. Thank you for your patience and thank you to the person that pointed it out to me because I had no idea I was this stupid and yet anything can happen on a Thursday night.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jordan was the spitting image of a kid that had been caught with their hand halfway out of the cookie jar. A very drunk, stumbling kid that couldn't really get much of anything logical out of their mouth. But he was a guilty kid nonetheless. And if he was the red-handed sneak, then Dina was the one who had poured all her time and energy and love into the snickerdoodles that were now just being swiped right under her nose.

In laymen's terms: Dina was absolutely _pissed_.

The very second they got into the Archive, she and Gunter were waiting at the door. Kay had called Dina when they'd been about halfway there, just to try and stave off as much of a blow-up as she could. Jordan should have absolutely known better than to take Cameron out to that bar, but the fact that it was Cameron's idea in the first place couldn't be ignored. Not only because it was so concerning, but also just because if he saw Dina body-slam Jordan into the nearest wall, his guilt from before would come back tripled. By now, he'd stopped apologizing. Ever since he'd laid down in the car, he'd been more asleep than awake. Kay didn't want that to change. She didn't want that guilt to come back— none of it have even been there in the first place.

Getting him up to his feet again had been difficult. She'd almost been desperate enough to call Dina again and ask if Gunter could come out and just carry him in. But at the last second, her whispered pleas for him to get up – "Only for a little bit, we're going right inside. I know you're in pain, but we'll be fast, I promise. You just have to wake up a little bit, Cameron." – seemed to finally rouse him. Agonizingly slow, Cameron had forced his body into motion. She'd helped him out as best she could and caught him before he could fall to the ground. She'd looped his arm over her neck and held to his waist immediately, the routine now set in stone and automatic. And, murmuring apologies and encouragement every so often, she'd helped him towards home.

Now, they were finally inside, and they were met with the two of them standing there with twin scowls on their faces. Though she'd had no part in this whatsoever, Kay suddenly felt like she was back in high school and had come home only to find out her parents actually _had_ known about the party all along, and now she was ten seconds away from being grounded. But their anger wasn't pointed to her. It was focused solely on Jordan, and even though she shared quite a lot of it – the others hadn't even heard how broken Cameron had sounded on the phone, and it was turning her stomach even now to recall – Kay felt a distinct pull of sympathy when Dina immediately stomped over in his direction. For all it was worth, she could imagine her leaving tiny, flaming footprints behind her as she walked.

Dina's eyes flickered to Cameron as she walked closer, and Kay could see the flash of sorrow that she always tried to hide whenever he was looking. He wasn't nearly aware enough to recognize the reaction— he was barely able to stand. He was swaying and staggering even when he wasn't moving; Kay was forced to hold up a majority of his body weight, but unfortunately, the task was smaller than it should have been. He wasn't even looking at anything going on; he was staring down at the floor between his feet, like maybe if he looked at that, the room would stop spinning. However, given how half-lidded his eyes were, it was questionable as to whether or not he was _actually_ seeing anything at all.

Despite his apparent lack of attention, Dina was smart enough not to do what Kay was dreading. Instead of laying into Jordan right then and there, she grabbed onto his shoulder and practically wrenched him away. He flailed his arms out as he lost his balance and tried to dig his feels down into the floor. He attempted to give a tiny squeak of alarm or opposition, but Dina wasn't paying any mind, and in her rage, she was ten times stronger than he was. She carted him off without a single issue. Kay glanced over her shoulder and watched her drag him down the hall, already hearing a little bit of her hissed yelling. "You have _got_ to be kidding me, Jordan, were you using your head _at all_!? What in the _world_ would give you the _smallest idea_ that taking Cameron out to a bar would be a good thing…?" Her voice trailed off the farther they went. Kay lost it once they rounded the corner.

She looked back to see that Gunter was walking over to them. Already, she was bracing herself for some kind of back-handed comment. Something that would sting her unbearably but she would simply take, because she'd promised herself there would be no arguing in front of Cameron. However, to her shock, nothing of the sort came. Instead, all he did was stop a little bit away from them and reach out. His voice was unnaturally softer as well. "I can take him." He was only focusing on Cameron right now— he didn't even look at her or say anything abrasive. There was no anger. Only a lifetime of sorrow and regret in his eyes as he looked at his friend.

Some situations, and you only focused on what was really important.

She nodded once and started to try and shift her body away from Cameron so that Gunter could duck in and replace her. She reached up and started to move Cameron's arm off her neck. They had no choice but to use this one for leverage— the other was the one that bore the 'S' and she couldn't imagine the pain that would be inflicted by the slightest of pressures. However, Cameron was dead weight by this point; shifting him was more difficult than she'd anticipated. She started to wince, in the effort of shifting him off. "Cameron," she tried gently. "Gunter's going to help you back to y— to Jonathan's room."

Gunter started to step closer, but Cameron refused to help any. He stayed put where he was, keeping his head lowered. Kay stilled and sobered when she felt his arm move just enough to get back over her shoulders. His grip got the smallest bit tighter. The motion seemed to be a subconscious one. But it immediately made something in her chest pull oddly. Gunter's eyes flashed with surprise. Kay wasn't sure what to say at first…if she had to say anything. Finally, she just murmured: "I'll just…go ahead and take him..."

Gunter said nothing, still looking at Cameron. But he nodded once, and Kay took the agreement before he could change his mind. She readjusted her hold on Cameron and took the shuffling steps he could manage, making down for Jonathan's room. She was grateful it wasn't on the second floor, otherwise the effort would be tenfold. About halfway there she thought she heard Dina's voice drift towards them, heightened now in a yell, saying something about how she didn't care if Cameron had suggested they go out and get _ice cream_ — they still shouldn't have gone. It sounded as though she was going to pull out the 'If he'd jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you too?' guns. She just hoped Cameron was deaf to it.

They reached the room and Kay eased them both inside. "Okay," she exhaled, nearing the bed and starting to move so she could lower him down. "Here we are…the bed is right there, Cameron, you're okay to—" She couldn't even finish before he was collapsing like he weighed five million pounds. He hit the mattress with a dull thud and a whooshing sigh that might have been more comical had it not been for the situation. Her expression was worn with sorrow and regret, but at the huff, the tiniest bit of amusement lingered there as well. He was sprawled out awkwardly. She shook her head, a miniscule smile tugging at the corner of her lip. "Are you comfortable like that?" she asked.

Cameron replied, but given that he was face-down on the bed, she couldn't understand him.

She assumed it was a safe bet that it was either something snarky, or something that didn't make sense in the first place.

"Come on, Cam," she offered indulgently. "I'm going to take your arm, alright?" Maybe if she warned him beforehand, he wouldn't get as set off. Sure enough, when she did grab his wrist to help him turn, he didn't yank himself away. Thankfully, he was compliant enough to twist so he could be on his back. For all his expression said, though, he was dead asleep. He'd had way too much to drink. She noted this with nothing but a silent shake of the head. She was more than sure Dina would be lecturing him in the morning. Much gentler than she was Jordan at the moment, because she was pretty sure she had already hit him twice with a book, or something of that relatively heavy nature. But a lecture all the same.

For now, she just set to work arranging Cameron as best she could. She put a pillow underneath his head and untwisted his arms, being careful of the injured one. He was lifeless, so at least he was easy to move and manipulate. All he offered was a tiny mumble or whine of pain every so often, to which she met with soft apologies. She was starting to take off his shoes for him, when he suddenly spoke, practically scaring the daylights out of her. It was just a mumble, and the letters were so muddy she had difficulty even understanding one from the other. But maybe it was the oddity of the question that helped her wrap her head around it. "Wha' was Isaac's _problem_?" he slurred, his forehead creasing as his head fell to the side.

She blinked a few times, staring at him in surprise. The inquiry came out of nowhere. Eventually she managed to tear her gaze away and clear her throat. "Isaac?" she repeated, uselessly.

Cameron mumbled a little under his breath before he drawled: "Yeah, why…why w'sn't he _good_ 'nough for you?" The way he asked this was like they were having a sleepover and whining about exes together. The alcohol made absolutely everything he said sound nonchalant. And sloppily so. She would have been laughing at him if they were in any other situation.

She pursed her lips and went back to wriggling his shoes off. "He…it wasn't…" She fumbled for the right words. "We were just different," she got out after a while. She set Cameron's shoes down by the bed and moved to drape the blanket over him, all the way up to tuck under his chin. "There were too many…secrets," she sighed. "I couldn't live with them. I couldn't be happy with them."

To her surprise, Cameron heaved another sigh. This time, though, it was disappointed and soft. She pulled back to see that he was wearing a bleary frown. "Mmm. I have…a secret, I have a big secret, 'm— not good either...not good…'nough for you…" She froze. She stared at him like she'd never seen him before. His eyes were closing. At the last second, though, he inhaled sharply, and forced them back open. He didn't look at her— he was staring vacantly to the side. But he reached out with his bad arm – she could see the gauze poke out when he did – and he mumbled sloppily: "Wait— wait, hol' on, I got…I got…two of 'em." She watched as he tried to flash her two fingers but ended up with more like four. He let his arm fall back down to the bed. He exhaled in a thin hiss: "Wait…do…d'you know about Jonathan?" Like it was a secret and if someone even heard him ask in the first place, he would get into so much trouble.

Her throat was hot. It felt like forever before she could reply. "Yes, Cameron. I know about him."

He nodded weakly. "Oh…then…n'vermind. I only have…the one. But 's a big one." He let out a sigh that shook a little on its way out. "'nd I can't tell you…I can never tell you, it's—" His expression was getting foggier, and his voice was dropping in volume and clarity at the same time. He was closing his eyes again. He was exhausted; everything in Kay was wanting to tell him to just be quiet and go back to sleep like he had in the car. But she couldn't bring herself to, despite the fact she saw the subtle distress on his face. It was faint, like it was miles away, but it was still there. He sounded more choked. His voice was thicker. "Can…n'ver tell 'nyone, what…I d'n't…I c'n't…"

"Cameron, that's enough," she soothed, pained now. "Just go to bed. You don't have to stay awake."

The reassurance seemed to be exactly what he was waiting for. His lips continued to twitch, like he was still talking, but he began to relax. He sagged back into the pillow and his mumbling faded off into nothing. Kay stood there and watched, and in less than three minutes he'd fallen asleep completely. His mumbles had changed to soft snores. He was out. But still, Kay found she couldn't move. She stood at his bed and stared down at him emptily, her heart pained at what she saw.

Because he looked so peaceful. Asleep and dead to the world, he looked like his old self, if she could manage to see past the bruising on his face. His expression wasn't heavy or strained. It was clear. Happy. Or…the happiest that she had seen him since he'd gotten back home. Only when he was asleep, did he look like the Cameron she knew. And she found, standing there, that she would give anything at all to have that Cameron back with her. She found that seeing it now just hurt her more, and her chest was yawning with pain at the knowledge that when he opened his eyes tomorrow morning, this Cameron would be gone. Replaced by someone she didn't know, and someone she couldn't help, even though she was trying as best she could.

Standing there, she started to cry.

He wouldn't hear her. But she couldn't keep the objection back. It was practically begging to be let out.

"You're wrong," she croaked.

Cameron didn't even twitch. Her eyes welled more, as she pictured Jonathan's cold stare, engrained permanently in her mind. The way her heart had shattered when he'd met her confession with nothing but ice. She'd confessed, but she had confessed to the wrong person. Her heart had been broken, and she hadn't even had a moment's time to address that fact since everything had come to light. She couldn't possibly confess now. She couldn't add to this. But she couldn't bear to hear Cameron say that. Even on the off-chance it wasn't what he'd meant.

"You're good enough for me, Cameron," she whispered, her words echoing in the dark. She only grew more choked when he just continued to sleep. "You've always been good enough for me."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She'd brought food back with her because she was starting to suspect that the others were neglecting themselves in their efforts to take care of Cameron. She'd brought _actual_ food, too— not fast food, which was what had been clogging the trash cans ever since this all had started. She'd cooked it herself – it wasn't much, it was just spaghetti – but for all Dina had reacted, she may as well have handed them all five million dollars. She'd been over the moon and spouting thank-yous like she was fountain. It had still been hot, so they had all sat down and started to eat. Dina had set Cameron's plate down at his chair, which was empty.

Kay had been hungry on the way in, but the sight of Cameron's empty space had made her hunger pangs vanish. She hesitated, but figured the silence was awkward enough as it was. Asking a difficult question wasn't going to make it much worse, because she wasn't sure that was even possible. "Where's Cameron?" she asked. Had he been out more, today? Had he been here already, and eaten something with them? The act was simple, but she knew his willful interaction would speak volumes.

Dina didn't look up from the table. Her voice was a little tauter than usual when she replied. "He's in…Jonathan's room, still. He'd just gotten out of the shower, when you came in." She scooted some of the noodles around with her fork. Despite her eagerness at the thought of home-cooked food, she didn't seem to be very hungry anymore either. Her voice dropped to nothing more than a mumble, and the words were spiked with a different kind of emotion. One that was harder to pin down. Or maybe Kay just didn't want to. "It was…his third one, today," she exhaled.

Kay's face fell as she looked down at her food. She put down her fork. She was painfully aware that Gunter was staring her down, but she wasn't in the mood to try and figure out exactly why. She wasn't in the mood and she didn't think she could anyway. She just offered something that she hoped might help. "Does that mean he's getting around better?" she asked. It would be the one silver lining in the storm clouds overhead. But at this point, the tiniest of slivers would be better than what they had.

Dina's lips were still pursed, though. "No," she replied. Her voice was staying just as short, her words separated into little staccatos. She was picking her words carefully, but no amount of care could cushion the blow that they inflicted. "But when I tried to get him to stop walking, he did _not_ take that well at all. So. I decided not to push him." She only got terser when her eyes flickered up to Jordan, flashing with anger. "He's been sick, today, as well. He's thrown up _four_ times. Eaten absolutely _nothing_. _Jordan_."

Jordan was hunched over on the table, eating spaghetti with one arm and holding up his head with the other. He didn't look so good, either. Not sick, but just tired and very done with what looked like had been a horrible day. He grimaced, and the tone of his voice gave off the vibe that he had been getting comments like this all day long. Which was good, it was what he deserved. Kay couldn't keep her own glare off her face when she looked at him. "I know, I _know_ , I _said_ I was sorry like _a million times_ ," he mumbled.

Gunter reached over and slammed a hand down on the table right next to him. Jordan jumped almost a foot out of his chair, and then immediately cringed from the rush of pain that loud noise inflicted. He held his head in both hands and hissed sharply underneath his breath. Gunter held absolutely no trace of remorse, though, as he sat back in his chair. "Sorry," he apologized, not meaning it whatsoever. "My hand slipped."

Jordan looked up and glared at him. " _Look_ , you two would have done the same exact thing if he'd asked you!" Kay closed her eyes as Dina and Gunter were already starting to object— as this was already escalating into a fight. The tension had been in the air before now, but apparently this was the moment that would finally cause it to crack. Jordan wasn't going to listen to them, though. He just yelled over the pair. "No, no, you _would have_!" he yelled. "You _couldn't_ have looked at him when he asked you to take him out and said no!"

"We could have, because we're not _morons_!" Gunter snapped.

"He was s _miling_!" Jordan yelled. And maybe it was the volume of his voice, maybe it was the way it sounded so heartbreaking, maybe it was the fact that they instantly realized what he meant, that got everyone to shut up. Because immediately, Dina and Gunter snapped their mouths closed. Their angry stares lost their edge, and they only melted further when Jordan rushed on. By now, he was getting upset, and finding it difficult to pump the brakes. "He was s _miling a_ t me when he asked— the entire time he's been home, he hasn't smiled _once,_ and he was smiling when he asked me to take him out!

"And yeah, I shouldn't have had anything to drink, I shouldn't have let _him_ drink so much, I should have been thinking and I shouldn't have let us stay that long! But I did all that because he was _happy_! Because he _kept_ smiling! Because he was the closest thing to the old Cameron I've seen in a week!" He was getting worked up and talking way too loudly. But everyone was too shell-shocked to interject. They just listened, their expressions hollow. "He was telling jokes, he was laughing, he was singing along to stupid songs! He was himself! Or the closest yet! So _yeah_ , I took him out to a bar and I shouldn't have, but _don't_ tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing if you saw him the way I did! If you could have spent time with him again the way I did!"

Silence followed his words for what felt like ages. Until…

"He was so drunk, Jordan, how in the _world_ could you have thought that counted?" Dina whispered.

Jordan exhaled heavily. He winced and ducked his head. He didn't have an answer.

Dina pushed her plate away. There was still half of it left. "No more alcohol," she stated, very firmly. " _None_. None in the house, no letting him go out. This is _not_ going to develop into a problem. We are _not_ going to let him try and fix this with drinking." She sounded like she was going to ill— the way Kay felt. But she stayed firm on her point. "We can't let him replace one thing with another."

Silence again, but at least this one felt more like an agreement.

Nobody started eating again.

Kay cleared her throat eventually. "I'm going to go…try and talk to him," she murmured, pausing for a second to awkwardly ask: "If that's alright…" As if she needed permission. Dina just nodded. She murmured something about wrapping up his plate and heating it up later just in case he wanted it as she got up and took it away. Kay stood for a second more at the table before she started to take her leave as well. When she was stopped in her tracks.

"Why does he want you?"

She turned to see Gunter staring her down again. "Excuse me?"

Gunter's expression was a mix of anger and something else. The anger was blatant…the other emotion was impossible to describe or understand. She couldn't place it. "Why does he want you?" he repeated, louder this time. She said nothing. He continued. "Last night. Why did he stay with you? And why did he _call you_? Me and Dina were here— he knew that. He knew we'd come for him, if he asked. But for some reason…he called _you_ , instead. He went to _you_ for help." His forehead creased. " _Why_?"

She was mute for a long while. Her reply stuck in her throat. "I don't know."

Gunter wasn't satisfied with the answer. "And why do you let him?"

"I…I don't under—"

" _No. Why_ do you let him come to you for help, when _you're t_ he one that did this to him?" Gunter demanded.

Her mouth went dry. Too many emotions burned themselves into life underneath her skin, all at once but discernable all the same. Anger at the implication she had anything to do with the state Cameron was in, shame and guilt because she knew she absolutely did have a part in this, remorse over where Cameron was right now, confusion because she was wondering the exact same thing, frustration that Gunter was still against her even though it did nothing at all to help their situation…the list continued from there, but she didn't want to delve into it. However, the emotions were so strong, they blinded her. And the wrong response slipped out of her mouth. It wasn't the correct one— the one she knew she should have said. It was her honest response. What she truly thought. "I didn't do this to Cameron," she objected forcefully, before she could think. " _Jonathan_ did this to Cameron."

And as soon as she said this, Gunter was shoving himself away from the table and shooting up to his feet. He was scowling, and hands were clenching tightly at his sides as if he was trying to restrain himself. Stumbling over himself in his haste, Jordan rushed to get up too, and he planted himself between the two of them, throwing out an arm towards Gunter in warning. "Hey, _hey_ — stop. We don't need this right now." Gunter wasn't even looking at him; he was staring at Kay with enough anger to melt her on the spot.

She locked her jaw backwards and met his glare. Holding the same amount of coldness in her stare that Jonathan had when he'd last looked at her, knowingly deceiving her and everyone else, and leaving Cameron behind, abandoned in prison. Gunter was fuming, but Jordan was still keeping him back. He went on to try and curb his anger— a tall order considering Gunter was also furious at him. But Kay wasn't in the mood to linger and listen to his efforts. She turned and went down the hall, leaving them both behind her.

Cameron's – or Jonathan's? – door was cracked like always. She suspected that Dina was purposefully never letting it stay all the way closed. Still, she knocked on it before she entered. And she waited for an audible response, which she was surprised to actually get. "Yeah." She pushed her way inside and saw that he was in bed already. He was looking towards the door, but not at her; to the hallway behind her. She stilled in the entryway, something in her stomach twisting with distinct pain at the look on his face. In the glow of the light from outside, she could see that his expression was more than strained. That his eyes were bright with pain. Even though he turned away fast, the look lingered in her mind.

She swallowed. The question came before she could stop it. "How much did you hear?"

He didn't answer, but he didn't need to. It was on his face. She glanced over her shoulder, still able to hear a little bit of Jordan and Gunter fighting. She stepped inside and shut the door to cut it off. She hesitated there for a moment, feeling the tension in the room, before she turned around and started to walk towards the bed. Cameron still wasn't looking at her – she recalled his tearful apology the night before – so she stopped a couple feet away. His hair was still wet. She'd gotten a good look at him when the hall light had broken into the dark of the room. He'd looked completely exhausted, like Jordan. Only, the nausea on his face was tripled and added to. He was still feeling the pain from the night before. So it was obvious, but she still asked: "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap," he sighed, and despite the hollow ring to his voice, she was surprised at how relieved the reply made her. The tiny flash of snarkiness she hadn't gotten at all since he'd been back. It wasn't much, but she was trying to grasp at the tiniest of straws at this point. She was also trying to wrack her brain for something else to say, when he beat her to the punch. "I'm sorry. Kay. I don't know what I was…" The explanation failed. Maybe because he realized whatever he was about to say wasn't true. Whatever it was, he amended it. "I'm sorry I called you, I didn't…you shouldn't have come, you didn't need to."

"Cameron, don't be ridiculous," she objected softly. "I wasn't going to leave you there." He didn't say anything in reply. She tried to hedge on. "I didn't mind, Cameron, really. It was no trouble. I was glad to get you home, and get you safe, and…" She took in a bit of a quicker breath. "I'd do it again," she said. "If you needed me to."

It was harder to see his reactions when they were in the dark like this. There were no lights on in the room, so she mainly just got a silhouette and the smallest sense of his face. Selfishly, she was almost glad. That she didn't have to see him fully, and whatever was there. He didn't address the sentiment when he broke the silence. "I don't remember anything…" he exhaled. She frowned. This time there was a longer pause of silence before he dared to ask, in barely a whisper: "What did I do? What all…did I say?"

There was too much fear in this last question. Too much anxiety and mortification, and she knew from the very instant he asked, she shouldn't be honest. "Not much," she began, speaking slow. "You were out of it. I found you, and I took you back here…Dina was furious at Jordan, so I got you back into bed. You told me…that you'd been planning on breaking Jonathan out of prison when he forced you to switch places with him. You…were apologizing a lot." There was a pause, before she decided. "That was about it. You were mumbling some things…but there wasn't much else. You'd had a lot to drink."

The quiet that followed her answer was layered thick with skepticism. He actually glanced at her now, like he was checking to see if she was lying. But if anything, Kay had a brilliant poker face when she wanted to, and she kept it up. He looked away again. And again, she could recall the sobbing that had been on the other line. ''m s'ry I can't look at you.' It brought to mind everything else he'd said— everything else he'd almost said or had been trying to say but was crying too hard to. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, for something else to focus on.

"I'm glad you called me, Cameron," she insisted. He kept his eyes trained upwards. "You can…call me whenever you need me. Any time. I'll always answer." This promise was made without a single shred of hesitation. She could be chasing a killer, and she would stop to answer Cameron before her phone could even ring for its third time. The force behind this was enough to get that point across. "No matter what. I want to help you. That's— that's all any of us want to do, I mean. So…don't apologize for last night. You can do it again…however many times you need to."

The sentiment didn't touch him, though. Far from it.

When he spoke, it was quiet, and laden with far too much guilt and regret for her to even come close to fathoming.

"I don't _want_ to need to."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She was supposed to be pretending she was working, but she'd gotten more and more distracted, and now Kay was just sitting, staring down at her desk with a blank look on her face. Her computer was asleep, and the files in front of her were untouched. She'd meant to do more work than she actually had. She'd meant to help the cause more. But she'd been preoccupied. Thinking too much. Worrying too much and fretting too much. She was waiting for updates from Dina, and every single time her phone buzzed, she practically yanked it up to see if it was her with some news.

The past couple of days, and there hadn't been progress. On any fronts. Jonathan was still gone; there was no sign of him, or the mystery woman, if they really were together. The other Black twin was just as good at deception as Cameron was…there wasn't even the tiniest hint of him anywhere. Years of hiding himself helped his resume. It truly was like he had just been a figment of their imagination this whole time. They were still trying…they hadn't given up hope, at least in the technical sense. But still.

And there was no progress on the other side of the equation, either. Or maybe there was, but it wasn't as much as she – and anyone else – wanted. Cameron was still in bed most of the time, with the lights all off and the door closed, whenever Dina wasn't there to secretly open it back up just a little bit. He still didn't talk or eat much. At the rate he was refusing things, they were going to have to take him back to the hospital for malnourishment all over again. But whenever he did eat something, it was always bound to come back up. As it was, he tended to greet the day by getting sick. His voice was recovering in miniscule amounts, and his bruised ribs were getting easier to breathe around with every passing day. But that was about it when it came to good news.

He was still getting up too much to take showers. The team had stopped trying to fight him on that one, picking their fight instead with the whole 'eating' issue. Dina had texted her that he'd brushed his teeth twenty-three times throughout the duration of yesterday. That the bags under his eyes were getting darker, and that she was thinking of going out and buying him melatonin or even Zzzquil, just to knock him out for a little while. If he would even take the medicine. All these pieces of news combined and layered on top of her, and she felt like she was being smothered slowly, and suffocating because of it. But she knew it had to be ten times worse for Cameron.

Last night, she'd asked Dina if she'd thought of broaching the topic of therapy with Cameron yet.

She had said she hadn't even dared to go there, yet.

Regrettably, Kay had to admit that it was probably wise of her.

She couldn't sleep herself, she was so worried about him. She was worried she'd wake up to another call from him either hurt or panicking or upset over something. She was worried he would do something even stupider than the bar thing…that he would get himself into trouble, or hurt himself, and she wouldn't be able to help him because she was sleeping. But mostly she couldn't fall asleep simply because he was on her mind. The exhausted look on his face, the way he'd sounded on the phone, how his voice had crumbled when he'd been rambling as she was putting him to bed…all those and more were playing over and over in her head, and she couldn't possibly relax.

It was too difficult to ignore the pain in her heart.

"Agent Daniels?"

She jerked, looking up from her desk and blinking like she'd been shaken out of a dream. She looked to see Deakins standing a few feet away. The way she was looking at her, it seemed like she had been there for a little while, trying to get her attention. Immediately, Kay straightened, shaking her head to try and clear it. "I'm…I'm sorry," she managed weakly. "I…I was just trying to figure out…where we should—"

"How is he doing?" Deakins asked, cutting through whatever excuse she was trying to conjure.

Kay stopped short, a little caught off-guard. And she only grew more so when she saw the genuine concern that was in her superior's eyes. She cleared her throat and sat back more, dropping her files which she'd only started to stack to try and make it look like she was doing something. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but she had an inkling it wasn't quite as effective as she wanted it to be. "He's…not very well…actually," she rasped. Deakins sobered, sorrow bringing her eyebrows together. "He's…having a hard time with his recovery. We're doing all we can to help him." And yet it still wasn't enough. She didn't add this part. But it still hurt to acknowledge.

"Oh…well…I was…just doing some digging…" Deakins murmured, walking the rest of the way to her desk and setting down three folders for her. Kay reached out and starting to thumb through them. "They're just a few cold cases we haven't done much of anything with recently. They had…too many variables that didn't make sense…too many confusing details. I…gathered them all together, I thought…" She trailed off. The concerned look didn't leave her face.

Kay's own expression began to wilt. She looked through them all, her heart growing heavier with each one. Before she put the tiny stack down and looked at her regretfully. "No." She answered the question Deakins didn't ask. Her superior didn't seem surprised at all. Just disheartened. "He can't. Not yet. It'd be too much for him." She pictured how he might have been before. How his eyes would have lit up as he made a grab for all the papers at once. How happy he would have been to have so many cases at his disposal, or how pleased he would have sounded when he leaned over to hiss excitedly into her ear: 'She found all these for _me_ — does that mean she finally likes me? Does that mean I can get a badge too? Are you allowed to flash a peace sign when they take your photo? Or I can wear some really cool sunglasses…'

The thought brought too much pain to her chest.

"Of course." Deakins started to gather up the files again. "I just thought…maybe some tiny ones…to distract him." The gesture was surprising, and warmer than Kay had anticipated. This entire time, Deakins had been beside herself trying to find Jonathan— it was all she'd been doing. She hadn't mentioned Cameron once, and Kay had just accepted he was a lesser rung of importance to her in the time being. Now, there was that same apprehension on her face that the team wore. Not nearly as much, but it was there. And as she straightened, concentrating far more than she needed to on lining up the folders so they were perfectly together, she offered: "Please tell him we're all waiting for him. And…that we hope for the best."

Her mouth was dry. She didn't know whether to cry because this was so touching, or cry because it was happening in the first place. "Of course," she rasped eventually. "I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

Deakins nodded once. She lingered, like she wanted to say something else. But before she caved into the apparent temptation, she was turning and walking away. Kay watched her go, her expression slowly falling. Her heart slowly squeezing and twisting in agony. She stared after her for quite some time. Before she just turned and looked back down at her desk, fully giving up the effort of trying to make it seem like she was focused on work.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She was cooking something fast and easy, because she wasn't all that hungry. She'd been tempted to just pick something up on the way home, but at the same time, some part of her knew that cooking was better. She could forget a majority of what was happening when she did. She could just concentrate instead on temperatures and chopping and boiling. Not that she wanted to forget it all entirely…it was just nice, if only briefly, not to have the constant worry and fear claw at her chest. To breathe easy. To pretend that everything was normal and Cameron was fine and Jonathan was still here and—

The instant her phone started to ring she was snapping out of it. She dropped her knife and abandoned the half-cut carrot on the chopping board, rushing over to the counter and snatching it up. It was Dina. The last she had heard from her, she'd said Cameron had been having a better day. She'd said he actually came out and sat with them on the couch to watch TV, albeit silently. It was why Kay hadn't gone over to visit tonight— she had wanted him to _stay_ happy like that, and she knew her intruding would have probably make him withdraw again.

So what now? Did something change?

Her heart was in her throat when she lifted the phone up to her ear. "Hello?"

There wasn't an answer at first. Kay's eyes narrowed in confusion. She could hear voices way far in the background, only able to do so because they were yells. She couldn't make sense of a lot of what they were saying, but it sounded like fighting. Like rushed back-and-forths. Jordan and Gunter? Were they _still_ bickering? The thought brought on a sting of impatience. Could they not focus on Cameron? Surely the arguing was just making everything worse for him? "Hello?" Kay repeated, louder. "Dina, did you mean to call me? What's going on? Why is there—?"

"Oh! Kay!" Dina sounded surprised, like she hadn't been expecting Kay to actually answer. Or like she'd gotten distracted and had forgotten she called her in the first place. Kay wasn't dwelling on the oddity, though; she was trying to figure out why Dina was whispering. In the confused gap, the voices in the background faded into nothing; Dina must have moved away from them. "Um…so are you— are you _doing anything_ , Kay? Are you busy?" This was asked awkwardly, and way too casually, like she was asking if she wanted to go to the mall.

She turned the stove off. "No, why? Is something wrong? How's Cameron? Who was yelling?" She wasn't really being mindful of hiding her concern. At this point, it was useless.

"Uh…it's just— we were just sitting and all of a sudden…" Kay was getting more and more worried.

Her apprehension only multiplied when Dina blurted out: "Can you just come over?"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It didn't take her very long at all to get to get to the Archive. Paranoia and worry made things go quicker, like that. When she rushed up to the door, she could hear it again: that yelling, muffled and muted. She knocked and waited, trying to edge closer and make out who it was, or what they were saying. Before she could, though, the door flew open, and Dina was there, alarmed and flustered, but mostly relieved to see who was on the doorstep. "Kay!" she cried out, surprise injected artificially into the greeting. Kay smiled, but it was much too nervous to be effective. "You're here!"

She could hear the shouting echoing down the hall.

It wasn't Jordan and Gunter yelling at each other, after all. Cameron was the one who was yelling.

" _How can you— you aren't helping!"_

Jordan's voice was harder to make out— he was trying to keep his voice soothing. "Cameron, we…" The rest of it was lost.

Cameron's reply wasn't, though. _"How!? Just— get out of my way!"_

Kay looked at Dina in confusion. He sounded awake…so what was the matter? Dina shook her head and closed the door behind her, grabbing her hand to pull her towards Jonathan's room. "He hasn't stopped for the past hour," she whispered. "At first it wasn't bad, but the longer it went on, the more upset he got. He just isn't— none of us can get through to him. We've been trying."

Kay regarded her oddly. "And you think _I'll_ be able to?"

She wasn't sure what kind of look Dina gave her in response. She didn't actually say anything, though. They'd gotten to his room by now. The door was wide open, not cracked. And Kay's stomach immediately dropped. Cameron was out of bed and the lights were on. Both of which were good signs…but that was where they stopped. He'd been out of bed for too long— he was supporting himself against the wall with his good arm, to keep himself from falling. He looked drained, but more than that, he looked half-crazed. His eyes were wide and startled, and he was looking at Gunter and Jordan with open hostility. Way too much of it, in fact, like they were trying to attack him.

Jordan was still trying to calm him down. Gunter was tight-lipped at his side— apparently all the fighting between them was forgotten for now, to try and handle this situation. But even so, he seemed too worked-up to help Jordan out at the moment. He was just staring at Cameron with clear pain in his eyes. He wasn't even trying to hide it. "Cameron, we've told you over and over," Jordan was pressing. Cameron fumed, glaring daggers at him. Jordan kept going anyway. "There's nothing wrong. Everything's fine, you just need to calm down and—"

" _I_ can't _calm down! It's_ horrible _, I_ don't _understand why nobody else is freaking out!"_ he yelled. Each word was separated and heavy. He was practically screeching. None of them seemed surprised by the volume, though. None of them seemed surprised by anything, really. This had been going on for an hour? _"It smells horrible!"_ he screamed, frustration and desperation making his words shake. Kay weakened at how high-strung he was. Dina had said he hadn't started out upset. Now he was way past his limit. _"I'm just trying to find out what it is, you're—"_ He jerked, his eyes catching on the doorway for the first time. He stiffened as he realized Kay was there. Before she could say anything, he was whirling back to Jordan and Gunter, absolutely furious. "Oh, what, _you called her!?"_ he all but spat.

The pair was just as surprised as he was. "No, I— I didn't call her, Cameron," Jordan blustered. He looked at Gunter. "Did…did you…?"

Gunter was glaring at her, to nobody's surprise. "I certainly didn't."

Kay decided that was as good an opening as she was going to get. Though her steps were hesitant, and her voice was even more so, she didn't retreat. "I was just…stopping by to see how you were doing," she lied, figuring that was the best option. She frowned, trying not to look at him with too much open concern as she walked in. But the feat was more than difficult to actually accomplish. "Cameron…what's going on? What's happening?"

"It smells _horrible_ in here!" he snapped, yelling again as he only looked at her to throw her a scathing glower. There was so much anger behind it, it made her stop a little short. Her frown worsened. "The entire house smells horrible and I'm just trying to find it and _nobody will let me and it's driving me crazy, I can't breathe!"_ He turned, making a grab for his blankets and yanking them off the bed. The pillows had been messed up already, but now he just tugged everything as a whole. Kay grimaced as he shoved it to the side, not even glancing at the mess before he turned to the bedside table and ripped it open. He started to tear through that, too. Everything he did was panicked and rushed.

Kay tried to figure out what he was talking about. But she didn't notice anything. She glanced at the other three. They were all at a loss. Dina was watching Cameron sorrowfully, as he grumbled to himself and dug practically everything out of the drawer just to dump it on the ground. She looked at Kay and Kay had no idea why she looked so hopeful. Why she thought she could do anything they hadn't, yet.

She closed her eyes and took in a slow breath. Letting it out just as gradually, she turned back to Cameron and smiled. She made her voice as comforting as possible as she stepped even closer. "Cameron…" He ignored her, turning and rushing to the bookshelf so he could start flinging everything off the shelves. She saw that he'd already ruined the desk in a similar manner. There was a chest at the foot of Jonathan's bed, and everything had been flung out of there, too. The entire room was getting ransacked— he was running out of things to throw aside. Was he planning on going through the whole Archive? "Cameron, there's no smell," Kay pressed, raising her volume a little bit. Again, Cameron ignored her. "Cameron! It smells fine in here."

He straightened too quickly. Part of the reason he was yelling so much was probably just because of the pain rushing around like this was causing him. A frustrated growl died in the back of his throat. He didn't look at her, but he did chuck whatever he was holding down to the ground with more force. It slammed into the floorboards with a harsh thud and Kay winced away from it. Or, it was more likely that she winced away from his yell, which came at the same time. _"Look! I don't know what's wrong with all of you, but something smells terrible, and I'm just trying to find out where it's coming from! I'm not doing anything wrong! The only reason this is taking so long is because you guys are staring at me like I'm an idiot when I'm the only one who actually notices it!"_ The longer this went on, the more unwound he was becoming. Kay saw his hands shake as he limped to the dresser against the wall and started to tear clothes out of there.

Kay forced herself to trail after him, keeping a distance she hoped he would find comfortable. "What does it smell like to you, Cameron?" she asked gently. "What do you think it is?"

He kept yanking out Jonathan's shirts, flinging them behind him carelessly as he searched for the source of whatever it was he was smelling. He didn't answer her— in fact, at her question, he clamped his mouth tightly closed. His eyes narrowed, and his arms moved faster, clearing out the first drawer and moving to the second to get rid of all those shirts, too. Kay sidestepped to avoid getting hit. She leaned over more to try and see his face; it was pinched. He looked nauseated. She tensed as she saw his shoulders tighten, and his upper body jerk forward. His harsh movements faltered for a brief second as he closed his eyes and started to gag. She started to rush for him, in case he got sick. But he was already pushing it down— shaking himself and just going back to ripping everything apart.

"It's disgusting." His voice was getting quieter, and thicker. She saw that his eyes were welling up with water— whether it was because of the smell he thought he was getting, or from frustration or anger, she couldn't tell. Maybe it was a little bit of both. "It's _disgusting_ , I'm just trying to find it," he managed. He was down to the third drawer. Agony slapped itself across his face as he stooped down without thinking. It wasn't enough to deter him, though. Whatever he thought was in the air was worse than the fact his sides felt like they were being stabbed.

Kay knew that the line had to be drawn, and fast. She started to reach out towards him. "Cameron, let's calm down, okay? Here— you shouldn't be up moving like this, you need to lay down again. I can—"

" _I have to figure out where this is coming from!"_ he yelled. _"I can't keep smelling it, I can't!"_

She closed her eyes against the shouts but composed herself when she opened them again. "Cameron. Listen to me. Please," she begged. "There's _no_ smell. There's no smell— it smells perfectly fine in here." He gritted his teeth and scowled as he gathered up all the shirts and threw them aside, hard against the wall. He went down to the fourth drawer. "Cameron, you have to stop. You're upsetting yourself, you're—"

" _Just because you can't smell it doesn't mean—!"_ He jerked and gagged again, and this time he looked two seconds away from vomiting. But again, he choked it back, and just kept going. Refusing to let himself stop.

She shook her head and crouched down to be on his level. His scowl deepened, but he didn't look at her. His eyes were really watery, by now. "Alright, Cameron, look— we can fix it for you, we want to help you." He seethed, and still didn't falter. "We'll open all the windows, Cameron. The entire Archive— every single window. And we'll light every candle we have— I'll even go get more candles if it's not enough. We can spray air freshener, we can bake cookies, we can do anything. If you relax and stop moving around so much, we can start—"

" _I'm not stupid, Kay!"_ he snapped, whirling around to look at her again. But again, the only way he could was if he was glaring daggers into her. The rage in his expression took her breath away. With how surprised she was, he was able to sweep on. His voice was getting thicker and thicker. _"I'm not stupid, I'm not a kid! All of you look at me like I'm a charity case, or I'm not able to do anything for myself and you're horrible at hiding it, all of you are! I just want to do this, just let me do this! Stop treating me like I'm crazy!"_ He was rushing through it all, too fast for her to interrupt. _"I'm not crazy, I'm not going crazy!"_ His voice broke into pieces with this declaration. There was a desperation to this cry. But was it desperation to get her to understand…or to get himself to understand? _"I'm_ not _going crazy because something smells terrible and I'm just trying to find it I'm just trying to_ find it _! I'm not going crazy!"_

"I know, Cameron, I know," Kay reassured. He was hyperventilating, and his hands were trembling much too hard to not be noticed by this point. He was having a panic attack. He only grew more agitated the longer she tried to console him. She had to reel him back in somehow, but so far, she wasn't enough. "I know you're not crazy…but you have to understand— there's _nothing to find_. You're _not_ going to find anything. You're just going to hurt yourself, okay?"

He ducked his head and she saw his foundations begin to crumble. The second Cameron gave up on anger and started to let that slip, she realized just how fatigued he was, and how tired. How pale and sick, like he really could vomit at any time, and probably would have, if he'd just had something in his stomach to begin with. How even his clothes seemed a little looser on him than they should have been. How sad and alone and ruined he looked, when he ducked his head low. With his anger, she hadn't noticed it as much. It had been like protective armor, and now it was stripping itself away.

Which she thought was bad enough.

Until he spoke, and she heard how broken his voice was. "I can't keep smelling it," he cried, this time barely audible. Kay's stomach dropped. She immediately had to gnash her teeth together to keep herself centered— to keep herself from forgetting what position she was in. Because she couldn't react emotionally; not right now. She was the one that had to be strong, so she could help him. But unbelievable pain wrapped around her heart when she had to hear how shattered and fragmented he sounded. How hopeless. "I can't keep smelling it, it's so horrible, I can't breathe…" Now she was the one at risk of throwing up. Dina broke into action and ran over to kneel beside him on the floor. She wrapped her arms around him, putting her head on his shoulder. Kay waited tensely to see how he would react to the contact, but he didn't. He was holding his head in his hands, curling his fingers down and digging his nails into his skull. He took in a quicker breath, and his next words came out in a harsh, grating sob. " _I can't keep smelling it! I can't keep doing this!"_

"Shhh, Cameron, darling, _please_ ," Dina begged, her voice weakening with the beg. "Please calm down, Cameron, please, it's okay, it's okay, we're here— we're here for you…"

Kay looked between them, the stone in her chest growing.

Cameron hunched low, like he was trying to curl in on himself but Dina's arms and his own pain were keeping him from doing so. His lips were shaking wildly now; he looked absolutely sickened. Dina's attempts at reassurances weren't helping, either. In fact, the pandering only seemed to rub him the wrong way. He closed his eyes tighter, and a low keening wail escaped through tightly-gritted teeth. Kay had to cringe away from it. How frustrated and angry and sad and desolate it was. It said everything that Cameron couldn't, or didn't want to. It physically pained each and every one of them to hear.

And for a moment, on the floor of Jonathan's room with practically everything thrown around in a mess, she was tempted to cave and give into the same kinds of defeat. She was tempted to cover her face with her hands and give up on trying to hold her tears back or keep a lid on her own frustration that this was happening and she couldn't do anything about it. That her friend was hurting and it seemed like there was no ending to it.

Kay almost gave into everything.

Until she didn't.

Until she picked her head up and composed herself and took in a quick breath to shoo everything else away. Until she looked at Cameron, still bent over in Dina's arms and trying not throw up all over the floor, and her eyes narrowed. Until she withdrew and stood, reaching into her pocket and fishing around for the things she had just put away. Until she reached out her hand and waited for Cameron to finally look up at her.

And until she just gave him a crisp and almost business-like: "Come on."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was absolutely freezing. They were bundled up in coats, yet they still may as well have been blocks of ice. Maybe it wasn't the best idea in terms of _comfort_ , but it was the best idea for what had needed to be done, and that much was more than clear just by the evidence now seated in the passenger seat. Cameron resembled Rudolph a bit, in the respect that his nose was so pink he could probably light their way even in the headlights went out. But he was a completely different person than he had been in Jonathan's room. His eyes were bright, and all the panic was completely gone from both his face and his posture. He looked content. In fact, there was the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. An actual, true smile.

Kay was driving, and the windows were rolled down. Every single window— even the sunroof. The temperature outside felt subzero, and she'd tried to counteract that by turning the heat on in the car full blast. It made the wind tolerable, or at least much less cutting. Which was good. Because even though it was so cold it burned their faces and their throats, and even though it buffeted them from side to side…it was freeing. It was perfect. It was what Cameron needed right now.

Kay glanced at him, from the corner of her eye. He was leaning on the car door, on his arm, not his side, because his ribs were in too much pain. But he was positioned so that his head could tilt against the windowpane. His eyes were closed, and that little hint of a smile was on his face as he focused on the cold air blowing against him and tossing his hair around. He was breathing regularly and deeply. He looked peaceful. He looked almost as peaceful as he had when he was sleeping, and the fact that he was so near to that when he was awake made Kay's heart tug and her eyes sting. Though she blamed that last one on the wind, as she looked back to the road.

They'd been driving around for almost an hour now, mostly in silence. The radio hadn't been put on either; the only sound that was allowed life was the wind. Kay didn't find fault in that. It was better this way— it was more soothing. Cameron needed the space to stop and have everything slow down, so she wasn't going to take that from him. She would give him whatever he needed, as long as he was bettered for it. And judging by the look on his face, she had managed that. So she wasn't about to break the silence, even to speak.

But Cameron did. Eventually, he opened his eyes. He shifted and dragged himself to sit back against the seat normally, having to fight a flinch when he did. Kay glanced at him with the change, but still said nothing. He offered to do the honors. However, that didn't mean he did so readily. He was so quiet and reluctant that it was hard to pick up what he was saying over everything else. It was the repetition of the phrase from him that helped her figure it out. "I'm sorry."

She felt like that was all he said, nowadays. And all she was saying in return was: "Don't be. It's perfectly fine, Cameron."

He blinked and twisted to study her. She wondered if he was only able to do so because she wasn't looking back at him. She almost wanted to test it, to see whether he would turn away if she did. But she didn't. "I'm sorry I…when you first came in, I— I didn't mean to sound so…" He was fumbling for the right word. She allowed him the time to do so. "I don't mean to make it seem like I…" He wasn't good at these types of things, apparently. Launch into a full-on monologue just to prove a point in a way that came across as sassy and smug? Of course. But things like this? Apparently not. Though you had to wonder if _anyone_ would be good with this sort of situation. Chances are, the answer would be a resounding no. "Like, I don't…"

Without thinking, she glanced at him. He looked troubled and worn. That peaceful look was gone. But when her eyes flickered over to lock with his, he didn't break their stare, this time. His eyes flashed, and his shoulders seemed to tense, but he held her gaze. It was only for a moment, of course, before Kay was looking back at where they were going. But the brief heartbeat seemed to hold in itself much more than it seemed to on its surface. The expression on his face compelled her, and Kay found herself slowing down and pulling over to the side of the road. After so much wind, for such a long period of time, the newfound silence was deafening. But it would also be easier to hear, now.

She turned to see that Cameron was still staring at her with that same expression. Like he was pained, but much more so than just his physical injuries. She expected him to duck away once their stares collided again. But he stayed. He weakened, but he stayed, and he continued to do so even as the seconds ticked by. Eventually, he managed to find the explanation he thought worked best. But she almost wished he hadn't, because it hurt so much to hear. "I just don't want you to see me like this," he rasped.

She was amazed at how something verbal could cause her so much physical pain.

Now, it was her turn to try and find the right words. "Cameron…I care about you. _So_ much more than I e _ver_ could have anticipated from that first day you practically forced yourself onto our first case." Cameron might have smiled, but the expression was too innately sad to pass. "I _want_ to be here. To help you. I want to make sure you're okay, because if I didn't know…I'd just be wondering every second of every day." She shook her head. "I don't…look at you differently." He cringed. "I don't think about you differently, I just…think about what I can do to help. And no matter what it could be, I'm willing to do it. Because…you're my friend. I owe you that much."

He murmured in the back of his throat. "I don't think you owe me anything."

"I do," she reassured. "Besides just the help you've given me so far. You've been a good friend. You even memorized the way I like my coffee." Cameron cracked a grin at this. It was bit brighter, this time. "You even got shot for me and put your life on the line…I would be a horrible friend to leave you now. We've been through a lot together…why not go through this, together, too?" The question hung in the air between them, almost echoing. She wasn't sure, in the dark, but Kay could have sworn that when she asked this, Cameron's eyes grew glassy with tears. He said nothing, his throat too tight to. However, he did offer her another smile, which was going to have to suffice. Seeing this – having gotten three grins in a row and having this normal back-and-forth again – Kay wasn't so sure her own eyes weren't misting over.

But now it was her turn to look away. They seemed to be passing the baton. She tore her gaze from Cameron's and focused down on the steering wheel instead. Her eyebrows knitted tight with pain. "And…I still want to apologize…about Jonathan." His smile vanished, and Kay already missed it terribly. "I wish I could have done something…I wanted to help get him out, Cameron, I did…and I let you down when I couldn't do that. When I couldn't keep my promise to you. I'm so sorry." Her words were growing weaker. Even if she was given a million years to apologize, she didn't think it would begin to make up for any of it. "And…if I'd kept my part of our deal…and if I'd gotten—"

"Stop."

"If I'd found a way to—"

"No."

"I just wish—"

"Kay." He said this louder, and she turned back to him. He looked unbelievably strained. There was a haunted kind of look in his eyes that had been lingering there ever since he'd gotten home. Sometimes it was less noticeable, and other times it crawled forward like now, and it swallowed everything else up. His voice shook just the tiniest bit when he said: "Don't. It's not your fault. None of this— …you didn't do any of this. _None_ of it is on you."

She felt her heart squeeze, as if in pain. She knew she wasn't in any. She _wished_ she was. She wished she could take Cameron's injuries and put the burden on her instead. If she could take all of his suffering – every last ounce of it – she knew without a doubt that she would. If she could see him smile again, or hear him laugh, or say something stupid and then regret it half a second later, she would do whatever it took. To see the person Jordan had recounted, who had met a mistake that had caused a fire with a tiny 'Whoops.' She found her lips moving of their own will, and before she could stop herself she whispered: "I wish you could tell yourself that, too."

His face fell. He frowned and looked down at his hands. He said nothing.

Her heart was thudding a little too hard against her ribcage, and she found that breathing was a little harder than normal. She wasn't one to get nervous easily. However, she'd meant what she'd said to Cameron what felt like lifetimes ago— she wasn't good at being scared. And right now, she was. "But I should have…I saw Jonathan…as he was leaving." Cameron's forehead creased in discomfort. She kept going, albeit slowly. "He was packing up…I stopped him and I talked to him, I could have…if I'd realized what was actually going on, I could have stopped all of this. I just…thought he was you, I didn't even _consider_ …"

Cameron smiled, but this grin was layered with too much bitterness to belong to him. "'Cause he's good," he exhaled, the words hardly anything but air. "And I guess that was the point."

Too much silence followed this. Kay wasn't sure what to say.

But she was already more than sure what Cameron was going to.

The fact she was dreading it, though, didn't really keep her stomach from jolting once he did. "What happened?" She aimed her stare out the window. There wasn't much to look at, though. It was difficult to blame her wandering attention on anything other than the fact she simply wasn't brave enough to look at him head-on. He kept trying, though. Something about his voice caught her. She knew he deserved the answer to the question. He'd deserved it the very first time he'd asked, she just hadn't been able to give it to him. Now, Cameron was staring at her with an expression that hinted he was already preparing himself to be disappointed with another rejection. The hope in his voice was already so deflated when he elaborated: "What happened when you saw him? What did he say to you?" He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve any of this— she couldn't add onto all his troubles.

She closed her eyes. Part of her was tempted to turn him down yet again. To dismiss it as something that wasn't important…something that was better left forgotten. But she didn't have the heart to. "He…said that he had to leave," she began. "He didn't say why, or where he was going. I tried to convince him to stay, but…but he said he was finished with the FBI, because…we let the mystery woman go." Cameron wasn't saying a single word. He didn't dare interrupt, but the longer she spoke, the sicker he began to look. "I…" She hesitated. Nearly ten full seconds of silence stretched before she began again. "No matter what I said…he refused it. I told him…I wanted to be someone that was there for him. But…he wanted…nothing to do with me. Eventually, I told him…I told him if…he wanted to leave in some way, to do something, I wouldn't stop him. I just asked…if he would promise me I would see him again. And…he told me he didn't want any more promises."

Cameron's eyes widened just a fraction. Mostly in unimaginable anguish and disappointment.

She finished it off hollowly. "And then he left. I didn't hear from him again. The team was so upset, and when…when I heard 'Jonathan' wasn't taking visitors, I…thought I should go and apologize, and try to make it right so that— so that they didn't lose the _both_ of you. And…I was also just…going crazy because I…thought it was _you_ that had run off. I didn't…know where you were, or _how_ you were. And then…all of a sudden…" She exhaled heavily and left it there.

Cameron digested the story with difficulty. He looked down at his lap again, and Kay pretended not to notice when he reached up to wipe at his eyes. He grimaced and shook his head. She gave him however long he needed to regather himself. His voice was significantly softer when he spoke again. "I…just…" he closed his eyes in a flinch, "never thought he would have…" Kay wilted at the heartache in his voice. He sighed and picked his head up to stare directly out the windshield, like he was trying to focus on something very far away. "I thought he had a plan," he rasped emptily. "I thought he was going to come back if I stayed, but…he hasn't."

The longer she sat there and had to see this – had to hear the actual injury in his voice – the more anger began to stew in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't stopped too often to let it grow. She hadn't stopped to really add fire to it. She'd been too focused on Cameron, too worried about his wellbeing. But now the force of it was squeezing her lungs. And she realized the fact that she hadn't exactly acknowledged up until now. She wasn't just _angry_ at Jonathan for this…she was _livid_. She was livid he'd lied to her, and to the rest of the team. She was livid he'd left Cameron there and abandoned him to escape, when apparently Cameron had already been offering that option as it was.

But that didn't even _touch_ the pure rage she felt at the fact that he was to blame for _this_. That he was reason for the look that was on Cameron's face right now, and the desolation that had replaced his happiness. That he was the reason just over an hour ago, Cameron had been sitting in the middle of a mess of clothes and outturned furniture, crying because of something nobody else could recognize. The he was the reason he'd woken up in the middle of the night screaming and crying, begging for everything to stop when nothing was even happening to him. The constant showering and toothbrushing, the aversion to eating food or getting out of bed— that was all Jonathan. If it hadn't been for Jonathan, he would be his old self right now. Nothing would be wrong at all.

She was so furious it took her breath away. It hit her fully, in that moment. She wanted to scream, she wanted to hit something. She wanted to hit _Jonathan_ , she wanted to drag him back to the FBI and lock him up in jail for as long as time would allow. She wanted to see him try and fight and dig his heels into the ground because he didn't want to go, and to see his efforts fail because Cameron hadn't wanted any of this either, and this was just justice. She wanted to see him get what he deserved. She wanted an ending. She _still_ did. This one in particular might not be Cameron's – she had no idea what his thoughts were on Jonathan right now, and maybe he didn't either – but this was hers. This was what she wanted to see, now, and she was sure of it.

"I'm so sorry, Cameron," she murmured, knowing it wasn't enough at all. "I can't imagine what this whole thing must be like for you." She shook her head. "We'll sort everything out. I promise. One way or another…this isn't going to last forever." She paused for a long moment, hesitating. But eventually, she dared to ask: "Do you want to talk about it? About…anything?" She would listen. For hours, she would sit and listen if any type of unloading on his part would help him to feel just the tiniest bit better. She wouldn't tell a single soul, either. The team didn't have to know the details if Cameron didn't want them to.

But no. "I don't want to talk about any of it. Ever," he whispered. His voice was clenched in a way that begged her not to press. Not that she would have in the first place. "I don't even want to remember it. Much less talk about it." Kay just nodded once. Cameron didn't see it— he was still staring ahead. His voice was so soft when he went on, Kay wondered if he really meant for her to hear this next part. "My entire life…I always knew…that no matter what happens…I'd always have Jonathan. That he was the one person I never had to worry about hurting me, or…not being there for me. That I could rely on him." There was no doubt now that his eyes were watering. "Maybe…I expected too much. Maybe I trusted him so much…I didn't see anything else. I didn't see…how much he hated me."

"Cameron, you can't—"

"He left me," he pointed out hollowly. It hurt, but Kay didn't interrupt him. "He said…he didn't want to leave with _me_. I'd disappointed him too much, I'd…messed up, maybe even before all this started— maybe from the very beginning. He left me there, and I've called him, I've…" He had to stop and swallow back the lump in his throat before he could continue. "He doesn't have a plan. Not for _us_ , like I thought he did. He just wanted to leave. I tried not to believe it…I thought it would help. You know, a trick isn't… _fun_ unless you just…trust it— if you try to… _think_ about what's happening, it's not…the same, but this isn't…" He sighed. "If he had a plan, he would have answered. He would have been back by now. He wouldn't have told you—" He stopped himself there. He just sighed and gave up. Something he was doing a lot of, lately. "It's a mess. Everything's a mess," he exhaled.

Kay felt a renewed wave of guilt. Again, she mumbled: "I just…should have known he wasn't you…"

Cameron finally looked at her again. His eyes flashed. And in the face of his next quiet confession, Kay wasn't too sure she knew what to say. Or even think. "It doesn't mean anything…but…I wouldn't have done that. I wouldn't have…turned you away."

Nobody said anything after this. They held one another's gaze, and that was it. Kay's mouth was dry; her stomach was in knots. Eventually Cameron seemed to realize something, because he shook himself and turned back front. "Not that it matters," he declared, his voice stiffer.

Kay tried to say something. She was coming up empty.

But something about Cameron's expression warned her she shouldn't try anything at all.

Eventually, after ages, she looked away. And turned the key to start the engine again.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He was up when she came over next. He was sitting in the kitchen, across from Jordan and Gunter. Dina had been the one to let Kay in, but once she did, she went back over to the stove. Whatever kind of dinner she was making, it smelled wonderful. But what was much more wonderful was just the sight of Cameron. Immediately, Kay was fighting a smile. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, most likely to hide the gauze on his arm. But he looked significantly healthier today— there was more color to his cheeks, and it looked like he'd put in the effort to fix his hair, too, which wasn't damp for once. A hot cup of tea was sitting by him, and he was holding a deck of cards. It looked like he was trying to shuffle them and flip them like he usually did when he was bored. With his bad hand, he couldn't manage it. But he only looked mildly inconvenienced.

The smile that Dina had given her on the way in had said it all: today was a better day. Maybe the best so far.

When she came in, he looked up and offered her a tiny smile, just like Jordan did. Gunter glanced at her but didn't follow suit. At the very least, he didn't glare at her, or say anything snide. It was a small victory. She took the seat beside Cameron, and he didn't object to it. Jordan flashed her a grin and leaned forward more so he was resting on his elbows. "You're here early," he noted. "Is the FBI _really_ that boring without us there?"

She laughed. "I _will_ say that it's definitely not as entertaining." She hesitated, before she turned to Cameron and flashed him a teasing look. "It's much _quieter_ , though." He perked and looked at her with a bit of surprise. She only smirked. A tiny smile began to tug at the edge of his lips in return. "I'm just saying, I take less Ibuprofen than I do when you're there, so feel free to take all the time you need." She was plainly aware of both Gunter and Dina staring her down; so far, it had been an unspoken agreement to treat Cameron like he was made of glass. To tiptoe around him with absolutely everything, including conversation. This was the most 'normal' thing she'd said to him so far.

And she was caught off-guard at the rush of happiness she got when Cameron cracked even more of a smile, even though he turned back down to his cards as if to try and hide it. "You're their biggest customer, though," he flashed back. His voice was still softer than normal and strained like he had to make a specific effort to get it out in the first place. But it was slowly getting back to normal. Judging by the look on his face just now, she desperately wished that meant the rest of him was catching up, too. "Now they're going out of business."

Kay laughed again, smiling from ear-to-ear. Gunter was watching the both of them with a guarded expression. She decided to ignore him, though. And focus on this: a day that, should she try hard enough, she might be able to fool herself into thinking was back before all of this started. A day that was completely normal, and she was only here to enjoy the company of everyone else.

And she did. It was nice. Dina had made the best meatloaf Kay had ever had. With mashed potatoes and gravy and green beans, they all sat together at the table and talked throughout dinner. During which, Kay would glance at Cameron out of the corner of her eye and practically swell with relief whenever she saw him actually take a bite of food. By the end, he'd eaten just a little bit over half of the meal, which was a huge success in her book. He didn't talk as much as he would have before, but he did contribute to the conversation whenever he was required to. And even when the plates were cleared, they all stayed sitting together, talking as the hours slipped by.

"I think it would be nice to get away," Dina was saying with a wistful smile on her face. "We always had so much fun on the road…when you two weren't threatening to kill each other," she added, looking pointedly between Gunter and Jordan, neither of who objected. "And it would be nice to go out on a vacation; when was the last time we did that!? Gone out just for fun! We could find someplace, I'm sure. A theme park, a resort— we could even go camping!" She was just naming everything she possibly could.

Jordan was quick to shake his head. "No. Nope— no nature. I vote 'no' on the camping."

"Everyone loves camping," Gunter objected. "You're miles away from _any other_ person, with nothing but peace and quiet; how is that in any way at all not the best thing you've ever heard of?"

"I hate nature, and nature hates me back!" Jordan exclaimed. "Like— this one time, I was driving down this road out in the middle of nowhere, and in the span of four hours, I hit two deer! They just— _wham_! Right in front of my car, and I couldn't _stop_ because they both came out so fast! I had no choice but to just…hit them! It ruined my car!"

"You killed two deer in four hours?" Kay demanded. "Why didn't you slow down after you hit the first one?"

"I had places to go!" Jordan blustered. "And it's not an _uncommon_ amount of deer to hit!"

"It's actually a very high number; there shouldn't have even been one," Kay remarked.

Cameron suddenly looked up from his cards, his eyes glowing like neon signs. Kay's own widened as he turned to look at Jordan, a much-too excited beam spreading over his face. His voice was practically oozing happiness and pride as he softly declared: "You're a _deer_ ial killer."

A brief second silence followed the unexpected joke— a stunned and winded kind of silence. Dina's expression was smacked with shock, and when she stared at his wide grin, Kay was certain her eyes started to water. Jordan just stared at him stupidly, and Gunter was just as unresponsive. Kay felt the same way, but she shoved herself over the hurdle as fast as she could once she realized nobody else was going to. This entire time, they had been missing and waiting for exactly this: this smile, this barely-concealed laughter. Now that it was here, they couldn't scare it away, no matter how surprising it was. Though she felt almost dizzy with relief, her response came reflexively, on instinct. "That was just bad, Cameron, I'm disappointed."

Dina stiffened.

But Cameron's reaction was exactly as Kay had hoped. " _What_!?" he squeaked, which, admittedly, made her giggle. "That was a _good_ one."

"No, it was very bad, I give it a negative two out of ten," Jordan chimed in, Kay flashing him a relieved look once he caught up with her.

"Whenever I start to think you can't get on my nerves any more, you always find a way to prove me wrong," Gunter said.

With their additions, Cameron's smile stayed, and might have even grown. He laughed softly when he looked back at his cards. Kay's eyes caught on Dina and she realized the other was fixing her with a look she hadn't expected. One of extreme gratitude, and happiness. She was practically radiating the both of them. And once Kay looked up to meet her gaze, her friend mouthed a silent 'Thank you.' She wasn't sure what to do with it. She didn't really see how she deserved it.

All the same, she smiled back.

At this point, it was hard to keep one off her face anyway.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Work was getting harder to drag herself through. Every day, coming up with nothing on Jonathan's location got more and more frustrating. She wasn't as able to handle it as well the more it mounted. By now it was taking its toll on her. It was taking its toll on everyone. But more than that, she just missed Cameron. She missed him bursting into her office already somehow in the middle of a sentence even though he should know she had no idea what he was going on about. She missed him jumping into conversations with pointless and unneeded jokes or comments. She missed him piecing apart every aspect of a crime, explaining the details she had missed and why they were there. She missed him concocting some elaborate trick to close in on the person that always seemed to work out in the end.

She just missed every part of him. She never realized how much she'd gotten used to having him around at work until she was suddenly just…alone again. Or, not alone, of course, but…sometimes she certainly felt like it. _More_ alone, maybe, was the better word. In comparison, it was lonelier. So with those combined aspects, going into work every day, she felt like a heavy weight was being thrust onto her shoulders the moment she crossed the threshold.

But the moment work ended and she was allowed to leave, she was rushing back to the Archive, and once she walked over _that_ threshold, the burden was lifted. She felt lighter, and especially on the good days where Cameron was faring better, seeing him again took away the aching loneliness that had followed her so irrationally the entire day. Sometimes he wouldn't be as good. He would be in bed, with the covers pulled up over him and he would refuse to say much of anything— then, he just preferred to listen to her talk about something irrelevant, if he tolerated her being there at all. She always hoped on those days he would end up sleeping, because he desperately needed it, but it was never the case. The bags under his eyes seemed permeant, even on the days he was out with the others.

He could walk and sit up for longer periods of time now, and it didn't take as much out of him. His voice was almost back to normal, and the bruising around his neck was beginning to fade from dark purple to light blue ones. Soon they would turn yellow and be even harder to see. The ones on his face were clearing up in a similar manner, and when he had headaches they weren't nearly as bad as they were when he'd first gotten back. He still wasn't eating very much. He was still quiet. Still not himself. Still on-edge, and recovering, but at least he _was_ recovering. It was slow, and they all knew it would be. They were prepared to adjust to his pace.

When she came into the Archive, she could tell it was an okay night. You could feel it in the air if it was a really bad one— whether or not there was tension or pain or worry, or whether everything was fine for now. The atmosphere wasn't that bad, tonight. Sure enough, Cameron was out sitting on the couch with a blanket draped over him, messing with his cards. It was like he thought that if he ignored his broken hand enough, he could eventually make the injury obsolete. As she walked inside – by this point she could just let herself in – his eyes flickered up from the deck briefly to her, and he smiled. It was lackluster.

She started to say something, but he beat her to the punch. He looked back down at the deck and shuffled it awkwardly. "Knew you'd come around," he sighed, and maybe she was just experienced enough by this point, but she immediately picked up on the hollow ring his words had. She connected it with the look on his face. Off-put, and uncomfortable.

She knew what he was talking about, but decided to ask anyway: "What do you mean?"

Cameron gave a loose sigh. "I _mean_ …they should be paying you ten dollars an hour." There was only the slightest hint of bitterness in his voice. But it was a bitterness that came more out of self-consciousness than actual anger. She couldn't blame him. "Jordan's got that reunion, Gunter's gotta go meet up with some friend who got into town and wouldn't stop calling him, Dina's got a date with Mike…" He looked up at her again only to give her a smile that was much less sincere this time. "Can't leave me alone _here_ ," he chirped, still with that sad little ring. "I'd burn down the house if they did." He went back down to his cards and added a little sassily under his breath: "…I still might, so I'm just warning you."

This last part was enough to reassure her that he was still alright. She'd been starting to fear that tonight was a bad idea – the team had been cooped up here for so long, she was more than glad to…for lack of a better word, take the 'shift' of being with him – until that flash of himself came back. "Cameron, you know I would have come anyway," she pointed out.

"I'm just saying, you don't have to stay here all night," Cameron pressed. This came out sounding more injured. Her smile faded when she realized how he must feel— like a kid being swapped between parents. The discomfort on his face was getting palpable. "I'm fine to be by myself…you don't need to come over here and _watch_ me."

"I missed you." It fell out before she could stop it. And the way it _did_ come out sounded…entirely unlike herself. Too earnest, and genuine, and soft. It surprised even her, but Cameron immediately looked up with an identical expression. She pressed her lips together, feeling a distinct rush of embarrassment and horror. She didn't elaborate, and Cameron sure as heck wasn't about to say anything either, so the two ended up just looking at each other awkwardly, both just as lost on what to say. The tiniest creak of a floorboard would have made a sound equivalent to a bomb going off. Eventually, Kay managed to spit something out. However, it wasn't her best moment. "You look awful."

Cameron did a double-take. He looked down at himself, and then back at her, dumbfounded. She was about to rush and apologize – when she was flustered she tended to ramble and say the stupidest things, and Cameron knew that firsthand from the whole Isaac situation – when his face broke out into a grin and he actually laughed. He snickered for a few seconds, and the simple sound brought a large grin to Kay's face. " _Wow_ , uh— it took _effort_ to look like this," he objected, and she laughed even more. "I thought I looked pretty darn handsome."

"If that's your taste," Kay replied. "But it's not really my type."

He chuckled a little bit under his breath. When he looked at her again, his expression was noticeably softer…or maybe that was just her wishful thinking. Because as soon as they locked eyes again, Dina and Gunter were coming back into the room. Dina was dressed up to the nines, and along with her beautiful dress, she was wearing an anxious smile. Tonight would be her and Mike's first time going out together after the whole badge fiasco. She'd been hesitant to leave in the first place, because of Cameron, but Kay had encouraged her over and over to go. Now, she seemed excited. Gunter, on the other hand, was not as much so. There wasn't a doubt in Kay's mind he would rather stay here with Cameron. And the desire was probably tripled due the fact that Kay would be the one here with him.

But what's done was done. The night had already been arranged. However, it didn't stop Gunter from looking at her a bit too long on his way out, and pointedly proclaiming to Cameron: "I shouldn't be long. I'm not one for the nightlife, anyway." To which Cameron had, not even looking up from his cards, mumbled out a monotone: "Well just know I'll miss you _so_ much." Gunter had hesitated and looked at her again, and she had just stared right back at him. He'd had no choice but to just leave. Dina had lingered with the two of them for while until Mike had knocked on the door to pick her up. Which led to a rather awkward encounter, given the fact that the last time Mike had seen Cameron was when he'd woken up from a nightmare screaming.

To Cameron's credit, he played it off well. "Lookin' sharp," he drawled.

Mike grinned, looking ecstatic just being able to see Cameron out and actually lucid. Cameron tried not to notice it too much. "Thanks. How are— how are you doing? Kay's said that you've…been doing better, recently. We were all glad to hear."

His smile was pinched. "Well…I came in second in the marathon today, but other than that I'm doing fantastic." Kay glanced off to the side to hide her smile. She had a feeling Cameron picked up on it anyway. "Have fun tonight," he wished, very obviously trying to get the attention off of himself. He looked over at Dina specifically, and added a more affectionate and almost apologetic: "You deserve it."

At the sentiment, he melted and let go of Mike's hand to rush back over to the couch. Before Cameron could stop her, she leaned down and planted a kiss on his forehead. He grinned, embarrassed as she pulled away with a sweet smile. "I'll be back tomorrow, darling," she promised, and he just nodded. As she turned and met up with Mike again, and the two made their way out the door, the look on his face was a mix between happy and sad. Soft, but injured at the same time. He looked back down at his cards once the door shut. Kay was starting to believe he was looking at them now, instead of looking on possibly upsetting things, or dwelling on upsetting thoughts. He did it quite a lot.

It was a better coping mechanism than alcohol.

This left them alone; Jordan had already left for his reunion a while ago, and now the house seemed empty. Much too big for just two people. She took a seat on the opposite end of the couch and picked up the remote to search for something to watch on TV they would both like. Hoping it would break the sudden tension that had been conjured out of nowhere.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _You w_ ere Homecoming Queen?" Cameron demanded. Kay smiled and nodded, and he immediately shook his head. "I don't believe it, did you— did they give you like a crown? Please tell me they gave you a _scepter_? It's not even worth it if you didn't get a scepter."

"I was given a _tiara_ ," she corrected. "And no— why would you need a scepter? What would I have done with it for the rest of the night?"

"You'd _hit_ people with it," Cameron replied, like the answer should have been obvious.

Kay laughed, shaking her head. They'd agreed on a movie over an hour ago, but by now neither of them really knew what was going on in it, or really cared enough to track down its plot. They'd been talking instead, back and forth for ages and never stopping. Of course, Cameron was more listening than he was telling stories. But he was smiling, and every so often he would give a tiny laugh, or a comment where appropriate. The time was flying, and Kay found that this was the happiest she'd felt since she had gotten Cameron out of jail. And maybe it too ambitious to consider, but she was almost certain this was the happiest she'd seen Cameron since, too.

"I think I would have gotten kicked out if I did that," Kay giggled.

"Hm. Jokes on them, they already made you queen— you can't kick out the _queen_."

She stifled another laugh and looked at her watch. It was nearly eleven. It was hard to judge whether or not Cameron was wanting to go to bed— he always looked exhausted, because he refused to sleep. But he was still fidgeting with his cards and he looked content enough, underneath those dark bags, so she figured it was fine. "Are you hungry?" she asked instead. Another thing he wasn't doing enough of. She noticed him perk a little at the mention. "We could probably find something to make…or we could go out somewhere and get something that way." She hesitated before she added temptingly: "I can make really good milkshakes."

He smirked. "Okay, calm down _Martha Stewart_ , milkshakes are the easiest things to make," he rasped. He needed a drink of water— his throat was sounding much worse after all this talking. Opting to ignore this, he went on. "You just put ice cream and milk into a blender and wait five seconds. That doesn't warrant bragging rights."

"Do you want one, or _no_?"

He glanced towards the kitchen. After a second, his eyes flashed and he looked back down at his cards. "No, I'm okay," he mumbled. "…Thanks, though." She frowned, but he didn't look up to her and see this. A few moments passed in silence, which felt much more uncomfortable after they'd been going on together for so long. She started to open her mouth to ask him something, when he stopped her prematurely. He shifted closer to her and sighed, putting out his arms and splaying out the deck. "Pick a card," he chirped. She looked at him in faint surprise. He smiled again. "Pick a card," he repeated. "Any card in the stack."

Kay smirked. She grinned and shifted so she was facing him fully, and she tucked her legs underneath her. She made a show of contemplating her choice, to which Cameron eyed her indulgently until she finally plucked one out. "Okay, look at it, but don't let me see. And remember it," Cameron encouraged. She did: the three of hearts. He folded the deck back together and held it out for her. "Place it on top." Once she did, he shuffled the deck, getting it lost. Then he looked through it, with a bit of difficulty considering he couldn't do much with his fractured hand. He could do a little, but the reach was still awkward. And he scanned for her card.

Eventually he put them all back together and shuffled it again, before he looked at her almost smugly. It made her smile even more. "Alright, so I'm just going to go ahead and make your card invisible— it's at the top right here, so I'm going to hand it back to you to hold." He lifted up an imaginary card and held it out to her. She humored him and took it. "Don't drop it— it'll take us forever to find it. And the floor's probably _covered_ with other ones, so we won't even be able to tell if it's really yours," he mumbled. He talked over her resounding giggle. "Okay. Pick a number. One through fifty-two, I'll be able to pull up your card."

She considered it. Before she declared: "Thirty-four."

He looked at her with a 'Really?' kind of look that made her beam, before he shook his head. "Fine. You _continue_ to make my life difficult." He cleared his throat and began to dole out cards into a stack on the couch between them, counting each one. "One, two, three, four…" Once he drew the thirty-fourth card, he flipped it around and raised his eyebrows. "Is this your card?" he prompted.

She wilted. It was the ace of spades. Her answer came slowly. "…No."

" _Yeah_ , that's because you're still _holding_ it, Kay, it's still _invisible_ , keep up with me please," he flashed back immediately. She straightened, looking down to see she was still pretending to hold a card that wasn't there. The amount of relief she felt was almost stupid. Cameron put the ace of spades back on the deck and tapped the top. "So go ahead and put your card right there, then, so it's in the thirty-fourth spot instead." She eyed him but did as he requested. From there, he scooped all the other cards up and put the deck back together. She watched him count them out again, faster this time. "Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three…and card number thirty-four." He lifted it up from the deck and flipped it around to display the three of hearts.

Her eyes widened; she looked from him to the card in bemusement. "How did you do that?" she demanded. "How did you slip it in front of the ace?"

He leaned back into the couch with a tiny grimace and a pinched exhale. But when he looked at her, he was grinning widely, and there was a light in his eyes that she hadn't seen for quite some time. And a lightness to his voice as well, when he offered her a teasing: " _Magic_."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron hit the ground hard. He'd lost count of how many times he had already, but the slam was more than familiar to him by this point. Though the fact that he knew it well didn't take away any of the pain that the shove inflicted. And once he hit the ground, he went limp. He couldn't move. He wanted to – the thought was there, it was practically screaming and begging to become actual reality – but for the moment his brain and his body were entirely disconnected. He was just trying to breathe— to get air down into his lungs, in the hopes it would take away at least a fraction of their burning, or make the room stop spinning so much. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, fast and panicked, like it was trying to claw its way out of him so at least _it_ had a chance of getting away.

But he could hear the laughter, more. Filling up the room and bouncing off the walls to turn around and slam right back into him. It permeated the entire space, taking up everything, and it might as well. Because he couldn't tell anything else for sure. He couldn't tell which way was up, or down, or left, or right. He couldn't tell how long it had been, he couldn't even tell how he was laying. If it was on his side, or his back, or on his stomach. He could only be sure of the laughter. And the pain. And the panic. Those three things were what he had.

He'd be the very first one to admit this wasn't much to work with.

"Get up. You're not even close to done."

He didn't know who said it. By this point, it didn't matter. He still couldn't move.

Something leaked out of his mouth and down the side of his face. He hoped it was blood.

He felt hands on him, felt them start to pick him up instead, and he tried to scrape together as much energy as he possibly could— anything at all the was left. He gritted his teeth and ignored the agony it caused as he grabbed the nearest arm and twisted his entire body as hard as he could. He couldn't hear the pop he was looking for – his heart was still too loud – but he was dropped immediately, and he hoped that meant he'd dislocated the shoulder like he'd wanted. This time when he hit the ground he started to try and scramble up. Someone punched him hard in the stomach, though, and he crashed down again with a heavy sob. He was wrenched onto his back by someone else, but the second he was flattened the ground like this, Cameron forced the arm that _wasn't_ gushing blood into motion to rear back and snap a punch directly to the person's face. They reared back, and Cameron kicked out hard at the blur that was standing in front of him, to hopefully catch their ankles.

And then his side ripped in pain as someone landed a hefty kick to it. Cameron barely had time to yelp before someone took the other side, and the two proceeded to rain kick after kick to his ribs. He couldn't even inhale enough to scream; he could only choke on the torture and wait for it to be over. He was even more disoriented than he was before, once it did. He was paralyzed from the pain, struggling to take in the tiniest breath.

"He keeps fighting," someone said. The voice registered to Cameron as murky and muffled…about two miles away. He couldn't even be sure if that was what they even said.

Someone – but he knew t _his_ one – moved to crouch over him and shove a knee down hard against his chest to keep him there. Cameron choked at the hard contact as he dragged his head back front, rather than letting it drop to the side. His vision was ruined, though, even when he opened his eyes. It was warped and smeared and it didn't make any sense at all. Maybe it was because he'd hit his head so much. Maybe it was because he was crying. Decker's voice was just as odd-sounding and far away, even though he was _right there_. "Good. It's more fun when they do." He snickered when Cameron failed to shoot him as harsh a glare as he wanted. He bent down low, and Cameron cringed as he tried to get away however he could, pointlessly so. "Come on, magician…why can't you escape?"

He squeezed his eyes shut when they burned. Decker grabbed his chin and started to wrench his head so it was facing front again, and it was only because he was so angry that Cameron got the strength to do anything at all. But he reached up, forcing himself to use his bleeding arm too as he lash out blindly, as hard as he could. He struggled to do even the smallest bit of damage. Decker muttered a curse when a couple swings landed, and hands started grabbing at Cameron's arms to yank them back and pin them to the ground. Someone else grabbed his legs to do the same. Before he could try and start pulling against them, though, as hands suddenly wrapped around his neck.

His eyes flew wide as he started to choke and splutter. He couldn't breathe before, but now his air supply was cut off entirely. His panic only grew the longer Decker refused to let up. The other just watched, more than satisfied. He said something, but Cameron couldn't hear. His vision was fuzzing over with black the longer he couldn't breathe. His arms were let go, but all he did was reach up and try to claw the hands off his throat. His efforts were weak and feeble— barely-there. After another handful of seconds, they were already faltering and dropping to the ground against his will.

Right before he could lose consciousness, the pressure was released, and Cameron could gasp, the air hurting like nails on its way down. He coughed and heaved, his mind reeling away for a moment. It only came back to him once he felt himself being moved again— onto his side. And at once, he started to try and shove himself back to how he was, not knowing why he was being shifted in the first place but knowing for certain he had to try and do whatever he could to do the opposite.

The very instant he started, though, the hands were back to latch around his windpipe. He gagged, reaching up with one hand to try and peel them away and attempting to lash out with the other one— though it just passed through empty air. His energy was draining fast, and his head was getting fuzzier, now. Someone yanked his arm back, and stomped on his hand hard, like they had before. Cameron's wail of pain was silent; he couldn't even draw in the air to do so. The agony was silent on his face, and in the sharp arch of his back. A few moments after the pain blinded him, he was allowed to breathe again, and he was so dizzy and disoriented, he almost didn't hear Decker. "Don't break it yet. He'll need it."

Groggier, he tried to shake himself into awareness when he looked back. "Stop," he forced out, his voice hitching on his throat. And before he could stop himself, his expression fractured, and his next words came out much more pathetic. "Please stop, I'm n— _no please stop, stop, please, I'm_ —" He escalated to terrified yelling as soon as he felt himself being moved again, but hands were back around his throat and he couldn't keep going, as even more force was applied this time. He gasped and retched, his consciousness actually falling away entirely this time, and much quicker than he anticipated. He was only unconscious for a short while…maybe ten seconds. And the moment he came back to and started to try and pull his arms close up to his chest, the pressure wrapped back into place, to keep him subdued.

Over and over, relentlessly, the second he came back to himself, his air would be cut off again until he wasn't able to fight. Until all his energy was drained and he couldn't even reach up to try and tear the hands off of him. Until he was barely conscious, and his only method of defense was reduced down to almost inaudible begs that would die on his tongue when the hands ultimately came back. He wasn't about to fight with anything. To prevent anything. He was half dead.

He couldn't do anything. Because he just couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe— he couldn't breathe, he couldn't fight, he was stuck, he wanted to go home. He wanted to be home, he wanted to breathe, he wanted to see his friends again, he wanted to breathe, he wanted Jonathan to come back and tell him everything was fixed, he wanted to breathe, he wanted this to stop, he wanted to breathe, he wanted to die, he wanted to breathe, he wanted to breathe he wanted to breathe hewantedtobreathehewantedtobreathehewantedtobreathe—

"Cameron!?"

His eyes snapped open. His entire body was locked tight in panic; his heart was pounding hard against his chest. For a moment, he was much too confused and horrified to make sense of anything at all. To separate his dream from reality. All he felt was pure panic and terror, that was only multiplied when he felt the familiar pressure locked around his neck, cutting off his airway. There were hands around his throat. He was being choked. He was back in the prison— in the supply closet, he was back and he was stuck, and he couldn't get out, and— "Cameron, Cameron, _stop_ , Cameron!"

He blinked rapidly, his eyes finally focusing enough to realize that someone was in front of him. Mere inches away. It wasn't Decker— it was Kay. Her eyes were huge and terrified, and she was reaching out towards him, pulling desperately. "Cameron, you're hurting yourself, wake up!" she pleaded. She worked her fingers underneath his, and peeled his hands off of his own throat, having to fight in order to do so. The instant she managed this, Cameron was gasping, color slowly returning to his face. He still looked stricken and wild. For a moment he couldn't piece together anything; he could only stare straight ahead, shocked and frightened into numbness. He just fought to catch his breath. Kay was watching him, her own breathing elevated in fear. "Cameron?" she murmured eventually. He didn't even blink. "Cameron, it was just a dream. You're here, you're _home_." They were still on the couch. Had they both fallen asleep like that?

He was unresponsive. Catatonic, as it sunk in.

Kay looked beyond pained. "You're not there anymore, you're _here_ ," she insisted.

Another gasp in fractured and caved on itself. Cameron's expression crumbled and maybe it was just because of the nightmare or maybe it was because he was so tired still, but he didn't even have a second thought about crying. It just happened. He ducked his head and shut his eyes tightly, hating that he saw everything again when he did, like it was movie to play over and over again on the back of his eyelids. Now that he got the ability to breathe back, he was starting to use it too much— to gasp fast and shallow, which wasn't what was needed to get his head to stop spinning. And the instant he started to fall into this trap, Kay was struggling to stop it.

"Cameron…Cameron, shh— look at me, Cameron." He didn't. He couldn't. By now, she was crying too, just silently. She was managing to hold herself together for the time being, which was a luxury Cameron couldn't afford anymore. She inched closer, and, without even really thinking about it, she reached out to hold his face in her hands, like she had so many times before. He still cried, still hyperventilated. But he didn't pull away. "Cameron, slow down," she soothed. "Slow down— breathe…you can breathe, you're perfectly fine. You're perfectly safe. I promise you, I wouldn't let anything hurt you." His sobs began to slowly subside. Bit by slow bit. "Breathe," she continued to encourage, her voice never betraying its gentleness. "Breathe with me, Cameron, breathe how I am. You have to breathe slower."

Cameron tried to push everything out of his mind except for her. If he was trying not to fall, Kay was the only thing he could hold onto, and he was desperately trying to keep ahold of her hand so he wouldn't plunge downward. But she was holding onto him just as hard as he was to her. And she was trying everything in her power to tug back and get him on solid ground with her. She forced herself to regularize her breathing, taking in slow and even ones. At first, he couldn't follow. He stuttered too much, or his inhales would hitch and break into sobs. But eventually he started to get into sync with her. Eventually their breathing began to line up more.

Kay didn't take her hands away. The moment she realized she was still holding him and started to wonder whether or not he actually wanted her to, Cameron reached up with his unfractured hand to hold fast to her wrist. His eyes were still closed, and he still shook. But he wanted something real. Something tangible, to feel and know that it was actually in front of him. He needed something to root him here, so he wouldn't get dragged back _there_. So without thinking, he held to her. She didn't comment on it. She just softened sorrowfully, starting to run her thumbs along his cheeks, darkened with bruises that she was feather-light with. "You're okay, Cameron," she whispered eventually. And this got him to actually blink his eyes open again. They were filled with tears, but she was sure hers were too. "You're safe," she pledged. "You're okay."

He stared at her, his expression completely ruined, like so many things were, now. She just kept soothing him, knowing that that look didn't belong on his face. Wishing and praying that she could take it off in some way. _Any_ way. "Just breathe with me," she repeated. By now, their breaths were near identical, mingling together in the few sparse inches that existed between them. And their stares were unwavering. Not darting away anymore or flickering with emotions or topics that would rather go unsaid. After being woken up by Cameron's yelling and choking, the silence that now permeated the entire house was earsplitting. "You're alright," she whispered again, just to try and break it. Cameron held just the smallest bit tighter to her. "You're safe…"

"I'm…I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't apologize. It's okay."

His expression weakened. His lips trembled. He hadn't breathed a word about it. To anyone. Not consciously. He hadn't wanted to. But now it was suddenly clamoring to get out, for no reason at all. Sitting there in the dark, struggling to follow Kay's lead with something as simple as breathing, tears welled faster in his eyes with the desire to spill everything. To lean into her and sob everything out. Maybe it would make him feel better. Maybe it would help. Maybe it would take away this suffocating feeling, this lonely isolation, this feeling that nothing he could _ever_ do would make it irrelevant, and this was what he was now.

It wanted to get out— it almost did. He felt it build like vomit.

But he couldn't do it. At the last second, he just cringed deeply and choked it all back. All he could bring himself to get out was a tiny croak. One that was weak and shaking and choked thick with sorrow. "It was horrible," he sobbed. Kay had to fight not to flinch as he cried. As his shoulders shook. "It was horrible, Kay, it was— …and I couldn't—"

"Shh. I know, Cameron, I know." Her own voice was thick, but once again she was fighting to be the more stable person. The rock that Cameron could hang onto. "I know, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Cameron…" His breathing was still ragged, his throat was still aching. He still held to Kay's arm, and as he tried to stop falling apart, he leaned closer to her, to try and reassure himself she was actually there. That this wasn't a dream, too. But no— his forehead touched hers, and when he stayed there, he could feel her warmth.

Her touch was gentle. Every so often, when she did speak, it was nothing but comforts. She smelled like cinnamon— she was wearing the perfume that she had bought a month ago. That Cameron had been there for, though he'd been moping in the corner of the store just waiting to leave. He'd been whining it was taking her so long to _just_ _pick one already,_ and _what does it_ matter _, why is this the equivalent of buying a new car, it's just perfume._ Now, he was trying his best to focus on it. On her being there, and the way she was breathing so he could get back to himself.

His sobs slowly began to decay. His lungs started to work again, properly this time. Kay had fallen silent, and the only sound that existed was their identical inhales and exhales. Cameron blinked a couple times, realizing their foreheads were still pressed together— that Kay hadn't pushed him off her like she probably deserved. He inched backwards slowly, like he wasn't sure at all how to move away. He only leaned back enough to look at her. Her expression was unbelievably soft, and unbelievably pained at the same time. Her eyes deep pools of regret.

The silence stayed. Just like Cameron stayed holding onto her, and she to him.

"Are you okay?" she murmured, searching his face.

"I…" Cameron's voice was hardly anything. His fingers curled just the slightest bit more around her wrist. Cinnamon was all he could smell now. Somehow, their foreheads were back together, their noses beginning to brush. She was so close he could hear her heartbeat. Or was it his? He couldn't move— he was rooted in place. Still, he tried to formulate words. "I…" Her hands were warm. _She_ was warm…everything about her was warm. "I…" Each attempt was quieter and quieter, until it came to this one, which was nothing more than a whisper. A rasp that hardly managed to get out of his abused throat in the first place.

Whatever he was trying to say never came to be. He was silenced when Kay closed the tiny millimeter of space that existed between them, to press her lips against his. It was soft and cautious, just like everything else she did was. At once, his mind went completely blank in shock. He didn't move or react at all. The kiss only lasted for a brief couple of seconds, before she pulled back, to allow him the chance to turn her away. His expression was completely stunned and conflicted. But Kay's eyes were still closed, like she didn't want to see what would be waiting as a result of the rash decision.

His mind still refused to work, or kick into actual gear. He was stuck in a limbo of panic and confusion. After a long pause, though, his free arm inched upwards, his hand trembling as he moved to hold to the side of her face. To, a little awkwardly because of the brace he was wearing, tuck her hair behind her ear. The simple action made her smile— it was a beam that seemed to light up the entire room just as well as any lamp could. And she inched back in again, this time staying. His heart was practically slamming against his chest, and his hands only shook harder as the kiss deepened.

But he focused on her perfume. Her gentle touch, her warmth, the things that made her innately _Kay_ and could never be confused. His lips moved with hers, in an even give and take. She shifted even closer and her hands moved away from his face, one going up to thread through his hair, and the other resting down against his chest, over his racing heart. The tiniest grimace flickered over his expression when she did, but he managed to lose it as he moved to cup the other side of her face. As he thought of how he'd sacrificed himself for her with Isaac, how she'd always been able to make him smile, of how he'd felt on all their cases. As he tried to remember what this actually was.

For the time being, their breathing still matched: tiny gasps and heavy exhales with every separation, before they came back to each other. Kay pulled herself even closer, and her fingers curled down subtly into his shirt. He grimaced again. This time it lasted longer. This time, he couldn't shake it as much. Something in his brain had finally woken up, but it was doing all the wrong things. It was pulling alarms, shoving white-hot panic into his bloodstream, doing everything it could to get him to stop, _stop, please stop, no please stop, stop, please—_ His gasps began to puncture and hitch; his movements began to stutter. His skin was crawling, his heart was picking up even more, he couldn't breathe anymore. He couldn't breathe— he couldn't— he wanted to breathe, he wanted to breathe he wanted to— He tried to figure out how to get away. How to duck down and curl out of her grasp. He took his hands back— let go of her. Waited for her to do the same. Was practically _begging_ her mentally to do the same.

But she was only leaning closer, only pressing more against him, only making it worse, it was worse, this was worse, this was bad, it was—

He broke. It was building too much, it was crushing him, he couldn't think, he just acted, and when he did he lashed out and shoved her off. Her eyes snapped open when he did, and they flew wide with alarm. But it was nothing compared to the alarm that was on Cameron's face. He pushed her away and immediately scampered backwards, his back hitting the arm of the couch so hard he almost flipped backwards over it. His eyes were huge, his pupils blown wide with fear. He was shaking from head to toe, and the moment Kay saw him, her intelligence flooded back to her. And now, all the horror.

"Oh my God, Cameron— Cameron, I'm so sorry!" she gasped. She rushed forward, as if to reach out and help him. The second she tried, though, his arms snapped up in a sharp flinch. Like he was trying to protect himself. The motion was sharp and without any thought at all, but it caused Kay to stop immediately. Her eyes were quick to blur back over with tears. The amount of guilt at seeing Cameron this way because of her was enough to take her breath away. "Cameron, I— I shouldn't have done that, I'm so sorry, I'm _so s_ orry!" He was gasping; the sound of it brought physical pain to rip through her chest. "That was so stupid of me, I'm so sorry, I— are you oka—?"

"I'm sorry, you—" It sounded like Cameron was two seconds from vomiting.

"Cameron, I shouldn't have pushed, I should have known enough not to—"

He was crying. "No, it's— I just—"

"I understand— Cameron, you don't have to say anything at all, I—"

"I can't— stay here, I'm—" He started to shove himself up to his feet. He staggered, his head spinning from the sharp movement and the lack of oxygen. Combined, he was woozy, and his panic wasn't helping.

Kay's lower lip trembled. She started to reach out to grab his wrist, when she stopped herself halfway, realizing that would make him even more upset. "Cameron, _please_ —" she begged. "It's not your fault, it's—"

"It's fine I'm sorry I just need to be alone. Leave me alone," he pleaded thickly.

She sat back on the couch, watching as Cameron practically ran out of the room, back towards Jonathan's. She didn't move. She just listened to the door slam shut and echo down the hall. And still, she didn't move. She just sat there in the dark, staring after him miserably, his terrified expression as he'd looked at her already beginning to burn itself permanently into her mind. She ducked her head and held it in her hands, cringing and starting to cry. Choking just like Cameron had, but in her case, she was just choking on her own disappointment. That she could have done something as stupid as that. That she had not only ruined what had been a perfect night for him and possibly the gradual upturn he'd been having, but that she also could have ruined…

Well… _everything_.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She didn't visit for a long time. Or…it was more like a few days. But it certainly felt longer. She didn't answer Dina's texts, either. When Gunter had gotten home not even more than an hour after the incident that night, Kay had left immediately, not even looking at him because she hadn't been able to. When Dina texted her the next morning asking what happened, she had just drowned in guilt because she knew it was because Cameron was doing bad again, and it was because of her.

She had been so stupid. Just _so_ stupid. She hadn't been thinking, and she had to _always_ be thinking, for him. She had just been so worried about him, so caught up in the fact that she could have lost him— that she could _still_ lose him because of how he was hurting himself, and how likely he was to do to again. And he had been so close and had been trying to reap so much comfort from her, and it had just been an accumulation of everything. Of handling cases, of going out to eat, of laughing together, of nights spent in talking or drinking, of magic tricks he'd shined over and she had pretended to be impatient with. Of the pain she'd felt when Jonathan had rejected her, of all the pain she felt whenever she had to listen to Cameron scream and cry, of wanting to fix him, of wanting this to be over, and she should have stopped, she should have been more aware, she shouldn't have pushed as far as she did, but she just hadn't been thinking and it was all her fault and Cameron was likely blaming himself and—

Eventually she couldn't stay away. After the third day, Dina was calling her practically every hour. Asking her to come back, trying to figure out the problem she knew nothing about but just know existed. Kay couldn't keep saying no— conjuring up excuses. But more importantly, she just couldn't go much longer without seeing Cameron. It was killing her to know she was to blame for this, but it was killing her even more not to know how he was, or _see_ how he was. So she went back. Feeling the weight of everything on her shoulders and suffering a bad taste in her mouth.

And walking in, she could feel it. The tension. The fact that it was a bad night.

Dina Jordan and Gunter were all waiting for her, triplet looks on their faces and triplet questions on their lips. It multiplied her guilt, which she hadn't even thought was possible. Before she even had the chance to really step inside, Gunter was snapping at her. Which she knew she deserved. "What did you do?" he growled, the question already barbed with blame before she could even tell him. She couldn't answer; she had to swallow the lump in her throat first, to get anything out, and the task was too much.

Dina flashed him a warning look that managed to silence him, at least for the time being, before she looked back at Kay. Though she'd stuck up for her, her stare was still wary when she did. None of the three said anything at all. Dina's eyes just went from Kay, towards the living room, and Kay received the message plainly. Her stomach knotted, but she turned all the same and started that way without a word. She felt their eyes follow her, until she was out of their view. But somehow, the pressure still lingered.

Cameron was laying down on the couch, on his side— something he wasn't supposed to do. He was curled under a blanket, which was tugged up over his nose. His face was mostly hidden but his eyes were hollow and empty as they just stared straight ahead. She couldn't tell how sick he looked. She walked as close as she dared and ended up stopping a few feet away. Her voice was weak when it came out. "Cameron…" His only reaction was to close his eyes. She looked down at the ground. "…Cameron, I can't…apologize enough for—"

"You didn't do anything wrong." She could hardly hear him. He was mumbling in the first place— with his throat, it only increased the difficulty. "It was me." There was no life at all in the words. No emotion. No…anything. "It's okay. Just don't worry about it." He pulled the blanket up even more. "It was stupid in the first place."

Her heart tugged. "What…what do you mean?"

"You and me. It's stupid. It wouldn't work."

Her reply was small. Hurt. "…Why not?" she whispered.

"Don't do that." Still, the words carried nothing inside them. They were empty shells. Tears blurred her vision as Cameron went on. "Don't pretend you don't know, it just makes it harder for both of us. I'm not good enough for you. Not anymore." She started to argue. She started to craft an objection, but he wasn't going to take one. "You don't want someone like me. And I don't want to drag you down." He shifted, to bury his face more into the pillow. "So it's fine."

Her lips trembled. She took a step closer. "Cameron…I—"

" _Please stop_." And the request was enough to render her mute, because it was suddenly so tearful and choked. Like a switch had been turned the second she started to try anyway. He was pulling the blanket over his head now, but she saw that he was cringing deeply, and tears were already working down his cheeks. She jerked back like he'd slapped her. She said nothing else, but he repeated the beg and made her feel ill. " _Please just stop, Kay, just don't_." Clenched sobs bordered every word. Like they were a fence line, and he was trying to keep her on the other side of it.

She couldn't fight. She couldn't do anything but stare at him brokenly.

He could hear footsteps retreating, and Cameron lowered the blanket again to see that she was gone. He was alone. Which was better, because he could breathe heavily and cry into his hands and nobody would be there to look at him like he was pathetic— like he wasn't already very well aware of the fact. He felt everything. Anger, disappointment, self-loathing, regret, sorrow…it was like a grab-basket of anything at all, unless it was actually anything positive. He had had feelings for Kay for so long, and he had never voiced them. He hadn't ever thought for a second that she shared them. And now, he found out too late. He couldn't be with her. He couldn't be a burden to her like that. And she wouldn't even want him…if she— if she knew what he'd—

" _You ruined everything, is what you did!"_ Cameron flinched as he heard Gunter's voice echo down the hall. _"He was getting better, and then you come in and—"_

" _Gunter, stop!"_ Dina was snapping. He wanted to cover his ears. _"She can't be—"_

" _No, she can't be blamed for any of it!"_ Gunter yelled scornfully. _"Because it's all_ Jonathan's _fault,_ isn't it, _Kay!?"_ Cameron gritted his teeth together so hard his head split in pain.

Kay's reply was too quiet to hear.

" _That's rich, coming from you!"_ Gunter spat. _"I never should have left, I knew you would have just—"_

" _Gunter, lay off her!"_ Jordan shouted. _"She's been helping Cameron the most this entire time, you can't take this one slip-up and—"_

" _He hasn't eaten a_ single thing _in three days, and you want to defend her!? He woke up this morning screaming bloody murder, I thought someone was killing him! You want to let that slide!?"_

" _Gunter!"_ Dina hissed. "He'll hear you!"

There was a small burst of silence. Cameron heard footsteps climbing the stairs and then the voices were too distant. He could hear them faintly, but he didn't have a chance of understanding, anymore. They must have fenced themselves into a room upstairs to keep fighting about him. He screwed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, more tears burning his face. He was ruining everything. What would be happening if he'd stayed in jail— if he'd been killed in that supply room instead? Everything would be fine. He was just tearing everything apart, now. And he was being irrational, and he knew it. He was being stupid about every little thing, but he couldn't stop it, and that made it even worse. To _know_ he was ridiculous and stupid and pathetic…but not know how to counteract it.

He stayed tucked underneath the blanket, crying softly. Feeling sorry for himself because that was the only thing he was good at nowadays. He listened as the yelling didn't stop, and only escalated. A couple of times it was loud enough so that he could maybe pick out a few words, but he really didn't want to know what all they were saying. Eventually, it started to rain outside, and the more it picked up, the harder it became to actually hear the confrontation taking place on the level above it. It was the tiniest of reliefs. He'd take what he could get. He tried to concentrate on the pounding raindrops instead, and the way they sounded on the roof.

He loved rain. He'd always loved rain— when he was little he would run out, sometimes when it was still pouring, and he'd jump in every single puddle he could find. Jonathan had liked the rain, too— he'd always made tea and sat to watch it, though; he didn't like going out like he did. But sometimes they'd done that…just sat together and watched a storm pass. It had always been relaxing. Cameron had always liked it. Jonathan had, too.

Or…maybe he didn't. Maybe he was just pretending for _that_ , too. Maybe that one was a lie, just like everything else was.

He kept crying. At this point, he was just impressed he wasn't all out of water. Somehow there was always more. The rain was calming, though. He listened to that and stopped heaving as much…began to calm down because was there really a point in crying anymore? He listened to the rain, and the thunder that came after every flash of lightning. And then he heard another noise. A softer, thudding one that made him frown and look out from the blanket again. He thought at first it was someone upstairs doing something, but he soon realized it wasn't. It was knocking.

Who in the _world_ was knocking on their door in the pouring rain at ten at night? Cameron ignored it. The knocking got louder though— the person on the doorstep only beat harder and faster. Cameron scowled. He waited for someone upstairs to realize and come down. But nobody did. And the person kept knocking. Two full minutes passed of Cameron just laying there and listening to the person knock, their urgency never letting up. He was frustrated and drained over literally everything, and _now_ he could be frustrated by the fact he would hardly be able to get up and walk to answer whoever this person was.

He might as well go ahead and add that to the list, he supposed.

He pushed the blanket off of him and forced himself up to his feet. Sure enough, the whole world spun at the simple effort it took to stand. He stumbled and had to catch himself, hanging onto the couch for balance and staring down at the floor to try and get his vision to stop shaking. He felt dizzy. It took a while for him to blink it away, and even when he did, he still stayed light-headed. But still, he turned and started for the noise anyway, gritting his teeth against the pain that it inflicted and trying not to cry out. It took him another two minutes to just get there. Still, the visitor was _not_ letting him forget they were still waiting.

If it was politician, Cameron would literally jump out the window, and he'd _better_ not be tested on that, because he _would_ do it.

" _Okay_!" he snapped, once he finally reached it. The person was still knocking, refusing to slow down. Cameron scowled and grabbed the doorknob, practically flinging it open. " _What in the world do you even—!?"_

He stopped. The second he saw who was on the doorstep, he couldn't finish. He couldn't do _anything_. His eyes just flew wide and his arm fell uselessly back to his side. His mouth hung open…just in case he wanted to say something or would be able to eventually manage it. But he was mute. Couldn't even think. Which was probably better, because if he _could_ do anything, he wasn't sure _what_ would have come out. His knees were starting to go weak, like they might buckle. Like he might collapse. For now, though, he didn't. For now, he just stared. Blank.

Jonathan was standing on the other side of the threshold, soaked from the rain. Cameron was shocked, but when Jonathan saw him, his reaction was ten times as sharp. His eyes widened and all the color drained away from his face. He flew through everything. He looked at the gauze wrapped around Cameron's right forearm, he looked at how skinny he was, like he'd dropped a hundred pounds. He saw how he was practically keeling over just trying to stand, how he swayed like he had no balance at all. The bruises that littered practically every inch of his skin— and the darker ones around his neck.

Cameron watched his brother's face go slack in horror and confusion.

And then he really did collapse.


	4. Chapter 4

You don't realize how heavy everything is. You don't _really_ realize how much effort it _truly_ takes to keep yourself standing or keep yourself balanced. After all, it's over one hundred pounds, for most people, if you think about it. Every time you stand, you're fighting one hundred pounds of pressure pushing back on you. When you stumble, it's one hundred pounds of weight suddenly dropping out from underneath you that you have to put to a dead stop. You're constantly holding yourself up, and that's actually a lot of weight to hold and manage. You don't realize that. Not until something like this happens. Not until you become so aware of it that you can't possibly keep it up.

It took a second. To register what in the world was happening…who was standing on the doorstep, what that meant, what was going on. It almost took _too_ long. But when he did, and when the dots finally connected, suddenly he _did_ realize how heavy everything was. Suddenly he felt every little pound, dragging him down. Suddenly it was impossible to hold himself up— already, the feat had been difficult as it was. Cameron started to stumble— his legs started to go weak and his knees started to buckle inwards against his will. Suddenly, the room started to spin and he couldn't even see his brother's face anymore as blackness started to creep forward to obscure his vision.

But some part of his mind stayed intact enough to try and save himself. When he felt himself start to fall, his legs fought to keep him upright, and he began to stumble instead. His bad arm started to fumble out to grab onto the wall and stop himself somehow that way. His head wasn't anywhere near on his shoulders, but his lips started to twitch anyway. To try and communicate. However, loose and unsure mumbling was all that could get out of his mouth. It didn't make the sense he might have wanted it to. "You…you're…I…"

"…meron?" Jonathan's voice sounded like it was echoing down to him from the other side of a long hallway. He could hardly hear. He stumbled sharper to the side. His arm wasn't strong enough to brace against the wall, so he ended up hitting his shoulder hard against it. He felt himself start to slide, and he tried to move his other arm, as if it'd do the job better. "Camer…what— …-oing on?" He couldn't hear all of it.

But he did feel a hand reach out and start to wrap around his wrist. And immediately he hissed and jerked away, like the simple touch was a hundred and seven degrees. He pulled too sharply and ended up falling backwards, too quickly to catch himself. There was a last-ditch effort by his legs to save him, but that only helped to get him falling to the side. He felt his back collide hard against something, and when he buckled to the floor, something else did too. Whatever it was, he'd knocked it off the wall, and there was a loud thud followed by a splintering crack. It wasn't anywhere on Cameron's mind to look up and figure out what it was. By now he couldn't even see anything, despite how wide his eyes were as he stared down at the ground. His fingers were digging hard into the floorboards, and his breathing was fast and sharp as his heart rammed hard against his aching ribs.

"…eron!? …ok at me! Wha…-ng!?"

"You…" Cameron's face was completely numb, just like his voice came out to be, "…left…" Every word was agonizingly slow and drawn out.

"Lo…me! Cam…–alm down, you…okay?"

Gunter had been halfway through yelling something when they all heard it. Out of nowhere, there was a huge slam. The sound of something heavy hitting the ground, and at once, the argument was gone as if suddenly made invisible. Everyone's mouths snapped shut and they turned, whirling to the door they'd closed behind them in the effort to hide their confrontation. It only took a brief second for them to snap into action. In that brief second, they tried to listen and see whether or not they could hear anything else. Perhaps it was the fact they _couldn't_ that got them running out so fast.

Dina was first to burst out of the room and for the stairs, Jordan hard on her heels. He was sprinting so fast that he was practically falling over himself. Gunter and Kay were left to take up the back of the group. They all scrambled downstairs, each of them caught up in a sudden rush of blame, confusion, fear, alarm, and so on. A multitude of things, that were probably rash reactions just to respond to the sound of something falling. And yet, for some reason, this was where they were now as a whole, and they couldn't help it. They couldn't help that a simple unidentifiable sound caused them to practically leap out of their skin.

They ran downstairs and started to rush for the living room, and Kay followed Dina and Jordan blindly when they veered off towards where they'd figured the noise came from. They ended up heading for the door— not the couch, where she had left Cameron. Their halt was skidding and abrupt; Kay almost slammed right into Jordan with enough force to send them toppling. She recovered, though, and half-fell to the side, to try and look around them. She saw what had fallen— it was one of the large picture frames that adorned practically every wall of the Archive. One of the many mementos of the past that were still hanging around like a steadfast hope it could be the same again on day. Now, one of them had been knocked down, and it looked like there was some glass that had splintered off, as well.

Cameron was bent down low, reaching towards the floor, and at first Kay thought he was just leaning down to start picking up the mess. When she realized _how_ it was he was crouching. Bending so sharply at the waist like that would put him in a world of agony— his ribs were far too bruised. Usually he couldn't even walk without at least flinching in pain, and now he was suddenly able to lean down that low without a single issue? Her face fell and she opened her mouth to say something, when she moved and saw what he was actually bending down towards.

He was bending down for…Cameron.

It took a moment for the realization to come. But when it did, she felt it hit like a punch directly to the gut. It took her breath away and for what felt like forever she could only stare with wide eyes, icy shock rooting her to the spot. Nobody else moved either, or even spoke. They all just stared at Jonathan, soaking wet from the rain and dripping all over the hardwood floor. He wasn't looking at any of them— he hadn't even noticed they'd rushed into the room. He was staring down at Cameron with huge, horrified eyes, ten times as baffled as they were by seeing him. He was crouching low, twisting to try and catch his brother's eyes as he reached out for him. "Cameron?" he was demanding. Kay's eyes flickered between the two of them wildly as her wits slowly started to return. "Cameron, what's wrong!? _Cameron_! _Breathe_!"

She looked down at him and that was when she snapped.

Cameron was trembling from head to toe. His expression was completely blank, much too similar to the look he'd worn after she'd yanked him out of his nightmare that night on the couch. His eyes were stretched huge but they were glassy and way too unfocused. She could hear his breathing from here— that punctured and desperate gasping that was unfortunately second nature by now. He was crouched on the ground, his back hunched in a way she was sure could only be hurting him terribly, and yet he was still swaying from side to side like he was in danger of full on sagging to the floor.

Looking at him this way was horrible.

Because by this point, it was so familiar.

By this point, it wasn't surprising. It was natural.

And the reason it was, was currently stooping down and grabbing onto Cameron's shoulders, only making it all worse.

She snapped. Completely. She was acting before she could even think. Or…before she could even think past the thought of Cameron. Of how his eyes had used to be filled laughter and excitement, and now they were dulled and extinguished. How typical it was to see them glass over with tears, even if he tried to hide it like he so often did. The way he'd sounded when Kay had woken up in the middle of the night— choking and gasping against his own hands that were latched around his just-healing throat. How terrified he'd looked as he'd shoved her away. How all his smiles now, when he managed to conjure them, were tinged with a weak kind of sorrow. How, when nobody was talking to him, he quieted and stared off into space with a look so strange and haunted that she couldn't even bear to see it.

She thought about a lot of things.

It's just that none of them were about her _actions_.

"Jonathan!" If she was noticing anything else, she would have noticed how she sounded. How rage filled every single syllable of the name. Immediately he whirled around. It only made her angrier. It absolutely _infuriated_ her, when their eyes met. When she saw that he was perfectly fine, not a single scratch on him. He looked exactly the same— in fact, it looked like he had a _tan_. But, oddly enough, she wasn't as angry about that part. Not right now. Right now, she just saw… _him_. And she saw how Cameron _used_ to look. Healthy. Not ashen and gray. Not underweight from refusing to eat. Not with horrible, dark bags under his eyes after so many sleepless nights. Seeing them side by side, the contrast was so sharp, she felt sick. "Get away from him!" she practically screamed. Cameron didn't even bat an eye at her yell. Somehow, it looked like he hadn't even heard it.

"What's wrong with him!?" Jonathan had the audacity to sound concerned, and wildly so. And it was there, all over his face— _how_ was it there!? _How_ could he _possibly_ even manage the _smallest bit_ of worry!? Not even guilt yet, just confusion!? It was so appalling to her that it rendered her speechless for just a split second. Which he used to turn back to Cameron, who was still heaving for air. "Cam!?" She positively seethed at the nickname. Cameron still didn't rouse. "Cam, what happened!? Cam, look at me!" Cameron flinched hard. Kay's stomach heaved. ''m s'ry I can't look at you.' _"Look at me, Cam, loo—"_

" _Jonathan Black!"_ Her words were stiff, now. She reached back with one hand and closed the distance to clamp her other down hard on his shoulder. His eyes flew wide, and he was so caught off-guard that she could latch the first handcuff around his wrist. And that was when all hell broke loose. That was when Gunter burst forward, already yelling a million things at once to Kay. That was when Jordan rushed to plant himself in between them, cringing when he only started to hurl the abuse at him instead. When Dina looked between both groups, rigid and torn, until she came to her own conclusion and bypassed everyone entirely, to skirt around them and drop to her knees at Cameron's side.

She leaned out and gingerly started to try and rouse him, ducking down so she could speak lowly into his ear. She kept her voice as soft as she possibly could. "Cameron, are you okay?" He still didn't react and she grimaced, trying to rub his arms to maybe bring him back into touch with reality. "Cameron, darling, calm down," she comforted, sounding strained. "It's alright…everything is fine still…"

" _You have the right to remain silent! Anything you say can and will be—"_

" _Stop, hang on, wait!"_ Jonathan was fighting, still staring at Cameron in alarm. Which only grew when he saw how gentle Dina was being with him, and how pained she looked as she was. Jonathan jerked to get his arms out of Kay's grasp. To rush back over to his brother, which just made Kay hold even tighter to him. _"What happened!?"_ he demanded. _"Tell me what happened! What's wrong with him!?"_

" _Let him explain!"_ Gunter yelled, Jordan fighting tooth and nail to keep him away from Kay. They were practically falling over each other— Jordan was barely any kind of roadblock. Still, he was trying to dig in his heels and at least slow his advance. But Gunter's anger was only mounting, and that wasn't helping at all. Jordan was starting to latch onto his arm, so he could tug backwards when Gunter got in front of him. _"Let him explain, what are you doing!? He's not doing anything, you don't need those! You don't need those— stop it!"_

All of this was happening at the same time. All of it combined into a mess of yelling and shouting that would have probably been indiscernible to anyone looking on from the sidelines.

" _Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law!"_ Kay continued to yell, yanking Jonathan back and managing to cuff his other hand with difficulty.

" _Cameron!"_ Jonathan yelled. He pulled, his expression stricken as he looked at his brother. _"Let me talk to him first!"_ he begged. Kay started to pull him back for the door, to her car. He staggered, staring at him in desperation. _"No, let me— let me talk to him!"_ His voice broke on this one, but again, Kay couldn't bring herself to feel the tiniest bit of pity. Gunter on the other hand was shoving Jordan off now, resorting to yelling obscenities at Kay as she continued to drag Jonathan out. Dina saw this and glanced at Cameron for a moment, torn, before she shot up and went over to help hold him back. Together it was at least more certain, and they could keep him from dashing out and interfering in any way.

He started to yell at them, now. _"You're going to let her take him away!? He came back! He wasn't doing anything wrong— you can't take him away! Let him talk first!"_ Gunter screamed back at Kay. _"Let him talk, let him talk to Cameron!"_

" _You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the court!"_ she went on. " _Do you understand—!?"_

" _It was a mistake!"_ Jonathan yelled, ignoring her completely. _"Cameron! Cameron, look at me, I made a mistake! Look at me, Cameron!"_

The faraway look in Cameron's eyes was gradually receding, but he still didn't look up from the floor.

" _Jonathan, you're already in trouble for escaping, do you want resisting arrest to be added on top of that!?"_ Kay demanded. He staggered at this, his eyes widening with frustration and desperation. But her question seemed to be enough to remind him what was actually going on. The fight began to leave him, to be replaced with defeat and deep, sorrowful remorse. He stopped tugging against her. However, his stricken expression never strayed from his brother.

" _Let him explain!"_ Gunter roared. _"Let him explain, he just wants to explain! Why are you taking her side!?"_ he demanded, looking at the two holding him back. _"Why are you letting her do this!?"_

"Gunter, she has to," Dina explained. Though it was difficult to, around the lump in her throat. "You have to let her, she—"

" _She wants to pin this all on him!"_ he screeched. _"This entire time she's been blaming him, now that he's back she's going to make sure he takes the fall!"_

"Wait…" Cameron rasped, the intelligence back in his eyes by now. His voice was so ruined and breathless, nobody heard.

"Kay's doing what she has to, Gunter!" Jordan objected. "He escaped from prison, what else do you think she's gonna do!?"

"Oh, but you'd _love_ for him to get the blame!" he growled, flashing the other a glare.

"Wait," Cameron repeated, a little louder. But still not loud enough.

Jordan met the harsh look wholeheartedly. His voice was stiff when he growled: "Where else does the blame go?"

" _You're just as bad as her, you'd love it if—!"_

" _How in the world can you look at Cameron and—!?_

Dina tried to interject as they started to fall into an agreement, trying to yell over the other. "This doesn't _matter_! Can't you see it doesn't _matter_!? This _has_ to be done, so it doesn't matter what we think! _Cameron_ matters— our job is to take care of _Cameron!_ Not—!"

"Come on," Kay muttered, quieter now. But her grip was still hard on Jonathan as she started to pull him back.

Cameron's eyes were slowly widening, and at Kay's command, his head snapped up. It was like a coin was flipped. Completely different. "Wait!" he yelled, his voice grating itself painfully out. Jordan and Gunter kept arguing, oblivious to anything else. But Dina Kay and Jonathan looked to Cameron at once. Jonathan weakened at how fragile and chipped the call had been— it was all Cameron could manage. He opened his mouth to say something, trying to catch his brother's eyes. But Cameron wasn't looking at him at all. Right now, he was only looking at Kay.

And he looked petrified.

"Where are you taking him?" he breathed. Kay was silent, just staring at him with an intense amount of sorrow. All of her anger dissipated, when their eyes locked. He still seemed woozy but he started to shove himself up to his feet anyway. Immediately, Dina swooped over to support him and make sure he wouldn't fall. He didn't even blink when she grabbed him, though; he was just staring at Kay like he was a deer in headlights. _"Where are you taking him?"_ he demanded just a little bit louder when she didn't answer.

Her voice was hollow when she did. "I'll…take him in for—"

"Don't take him back to Rockland," Cameron interrupted. She grimaced, though she'd known it was coming. Jonathan was staring at his brother like he'd never seen him before as he watched as his eyes start to well and his breathing sharpen again. His voice was thicker when he repeated himself. He was trying to be firmer, but he was failing miserably. "Don't take him back to Rockland, Kay, _don't_." She stared at him sadly, too choked to reply. He tried to take a few steps forward, as if he wanted to follow them, but he stumbled and nearly fell. Had Dina not been there to catch him, he would have. His expression was raw with pain when he realized that all he could do was beg. Which didn't have a history of working. His breathing hitched even more. "You can't let him go back there. _Promise_ me you won't let him go back there!"

"…Cameron—"

" _Promise me!"_

This cut off Jordan and Gunter. They both turned and looked at Cameron in shock when he all but screamed this. Dina ducked her head and closed her eyes tightly. Jonathan was still mute, staring at him in abject horror and confusion. Cameron still wasn't looking at him. He was glaring tearfully at Kay, his jaw locked backwards to keep his lips from trembling even more than they already were. She took her time replying. Or maybe she didn't, and the atmosphere was so tense it just felt like a lifetime. Regardless, she did eventually. It was barely anything at all. "I'll figure something out."

He stared at her, still expectant.

After a heartbeat, she added: "I promise."

He held her stare for a moment more, like he wasn't positive she was being truthful. But something in her face and her voice must have swayed him, because he tore his gaze away. In doing so, his eyes ended up catching on Jonathan's. And they stayed there. His brother said nothing, and neither did he. Dina was still holding to Cameron, and with every passing second it seemed like she was having to support him more and more. "Cameron, you have to lay down," she proposed, her voice soft as down. Cameron didn't even blink; he just kept staring at his brother, his expression filled with so much sorrow and pain that it split Jonathan's chest to even look at. Still, neither moved. Under such a stare, Jonathan was rendered mute, though he was trying to scramble over the hurdle as fast as he could.

Dina prompted Cameron once more, and somehow she got her words to be even softer. "Come on, darling."

Jonathan opened his mouth to finally say something. But Dina was already leading Cameron away. Which might have been just as good, because he was still so winded he wasn't sure what would have come out in the first place. He just watched as the two of them turned and headed back for the living room. He saw how severely Cameron limped, and how every other step seemed punctured with a gasp or a choke. How he swayed and Dina had to right him every so often. He listened to her talk, her voice fading as she seemed to just be saying a whole lot of comforts and soothes. "We'll get everything sorted out…it'll be fine, Cameron…Kay wouldn't let that happen…"

Jonathan waited for Cameron to brush her off for being too motherly. Or step away from her and walk on his own. But he didn't do either of those things. It looked like he had no choice. He _had_ to rely on her. The other twin was reeling, trying to figure out what in the world was actually going on. He looked at Gunter and Jordan to see that they were both just staring mournfully after Cameron now, their fight forgotten. He looked back at Kay and saw the expression on her face was a sickened one, like she was trying her best not to vomit. There was an unbelievable amount of sorrow and pain in her eyes as she watched Cameron stagger away, and it took a long couple of seconds for her to be able to draw herself back together.

Once she did, she steeled herself and grabbed Jonathan's shoulder to turn and herd him outside.

This time, there wasn't fighting. Not from anyone. Not from Gunter, and not from Jonathan.

In fact, as they went out in the rain and headed for the car, Jonathan just followed her blindly, completely numb.

He didn't even hear her when she said something to him.

All he could think of was his brother's stare, hollow and aching and somehow filled with more than a lifetime's worth of suffering.

Somehow completely foreign to him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Plenty of horrible people had sat in the very same chair he was sitting in now. Plenty of horrible people that had no inkling of guilt for what they'd done. Murderers, kidnappers, drug dealers…any crime at all, and there had been a mastermind behind it in this very same position. But so far, in the length of her entire career, never before had anyone sat there that had turned Kay's stomach as much as Jonathan Black was now. Nobody had ever incited _this_ much anger in her, or this much disgust. She could hardly speak around her emotions, they were choking her so much. Had it not been for Jonathan breaking the silence in the first place, she likely never would have managed it.

"What happened?" he rasped.

"I could ask you the same thing." Kay was growling before he was even through speaking. She was standing at the door, as if she was preparing herself for when he would suddenly leap up and make a dash for an escape. He wasn't. The whole way here he had been compliant and silent. Entirely obedient. He'd sat down in the chair upon stiff request; he hadn't even made a move to get out of his cuffs, even. With the readied comeback, Jonathan tore his gaze away from the table and looked up at her; the stricken expression he was wearing didn't faze her at all. She met the strain with a renewed glare. "You want to tell me why Cameron was in jail instead of you?" she demanded, poison dripping from every word.

Jonathan's mouth hung halfway open for a moment. She could see him fumbling to decide which plotline was more important. She could tell he was dangerously close to making the _wrong_ choice. But he saw her glare sharpen even more at the implication he would disregard her, and a trace of a grimace crossed his face as he started to bite it back. Still, it took a second for him to actually get words out of his ajar mouth. Even when he did, he stuttered on them. "I…I wasn't…I was…" Nothing seemed to suffice. Not that anything _would_ , to her. But it wasn't long at all before Jonathan was closing his eyes and giving up on trying to explain.

Verbally, anyway.

Instead, he reached down the collar of his shirt, awkwardly because of the way his hands were bound in front of him, and pulled out a necklace. Kay hadn't noticed he was wearing it before now; it had been tucked under his clothes, likely to keep it out of the rain. The shape of the charm at the end was odd…it took a couple of buffering seconds for her to realize what it actually was. It wasn't a pendant, it was a USB. A flash drive, on the end of a silver chain. Silence reigned, because Kay sure as hell wasn't going to say anything. She just studied it. It was up to Jonathan once again to break the quiet. Which he did, just as tensely.

"Everything is on there," he announced in a murmur, not lifting his eyes from the device.

Her reply came belated, and slow. "What is?" Even though she knew exactly what he was meaning.

"Everything about that night. It proves that she was the one behind it all. That I didn't do anything."

Her anger flared even hotter, if such a thing was even possible. It was bile now, rising up in the back of her throat so much she had to make a conscious effort to hold it back. So much that when she spoke, her voice practically shook with every bit of it. That restrained rage. She may as well have screamed, for the effect would have been the same. "This is why you left?" she asked. She thought of the way Cameron had first looked when he'd limped over to the table she was sitting at only to buckle and collapse into the chair. How he'd shaken and cried and jerked backwards the very instant her fingertips touched his skin. She repeated herself, her words growing even tauter. "This is why you escaped?"

The question seemed simple to her. At the very least, it seemed to only leave room for one clear answer. But for some reason, Jonathan met it with uncertainty. When he didn't respond as readily as before, she looked up from the necklace on the table to see that his expression was still the same strained, indecipherable one. There was conflict there, where Kay knew it had no right to be. She proved this when she continued. "Cameron told me that he was in the process of offering to help you when you turned on him." Jonathan ducked his head again. She was furious he had the audacity to try and hide from this. She started to grow just a bit louder. "He told me he was offering you this _exact_ help when you refused him, so do you expect me to believe that this is all you left for?"

"It wasn't." Her eyes narrowed in grim satisfaction. She still wasn't making a move to even touch the thing on the table. Jonathan's eyes were raw with pain, and he cringed when he tried to explain himself. Just like before, there was difficulty. "It…wasn't at the _time_ , at the _time_ I thought…" He shook his head. "I don't know what I thought, I thought that…what she was saying was _right_ , or…not _right_ , but it was…I just thought that I…" Her scowl only grew harder. He still wasn't looking at her. "I wasn't going to _stay_ with her, I was going to—"

"You were with her, then." The deadness in her tone didn't allow it to be a question.

Jonathan took his time again in replying. "…Yes."

There was that bile again, like she could vomit at any split second. Like Cameron, when he'd first gotten home, and how he would _constantly_ be throwing up. That had gotten less severe as the days went on. Was that progress going to be lost now, with all of this? She had a million things she wanted to say at the confirmation. She had a million things she wanted to _scream._ But, maybe thankfully, only one of them came out. "Where is she now?"

"I can tell you where she was when I left," Jonathan replied. "I can't tell you where she might be now."

"Why _did_ you leave?" Kay flashed. His fingers curled down tightly to dig into his palms. She noticed it only because she knew it was something Cameron couldn't do. He couldn't hold anything well with his fractured hand— though it was getting better, it was still weaker than his other, and it was a gamble on whether or not he could keep a grip on something for very long without it falling. Whenever he did, the pain it inflicted was more than evident on his face. "Why come back at all, if you left in the first place? If you said you didn't leave only for that evidence? What changed your mind?"

Jonathan looked at her now, but he really should not have. Because, especially when he answered her, her glare only grew ten times as sharp. "Cameron did," he practically whispered, like he couldn't manage anything more than a mumble. She said absolutely nothing. He elaborated without prompt. "He…called me. When I left, all I was thinking was…" He started over. "He made me realize I was making a mistake. She was manipulating me, and…I was trying to manipulate her, too, but it was…just a mess and I didn't slow down to think until…I…" He trailed off and for a moment he just stared, weakening with even more pain. He repeated his question. "What happened?"

She had only seen him like this once before. Usually, Jonathan was smug and haughty. Like he wanted to be sure everyone else in the room understood he didn't need their approval or their respect. He was usually cold and collected and that was it. But she had seen him like this one time before. She'd seen this pain, this fear, this worry, and this uncertainty. When Cameron was trapped in that vault, and suffocating slowly, she had seen this same look on his face, then. She'd heard the same waver in his voice.

Which didn't make sense.

He'd always cared about Cameron. When he was taken, she could hear it in his voice, and see the betraying hints of emotion on his face when they were working together to find him. And it had been blatantly clear in the way he'd screamed and flung himself against the door of that vault, with his brother trapped on the other side. When it had finally opened, Jonathan had been the first to rip open the door and throw himself down for Cameron. He'd grabbed him and held him close, like he'd needed physical reassurance he was alright otherwise he wouldn't believe it. He didn't hate Cameron. That had been Cameron's words from before, when they were in the car. But they couldn't be true. None of the evidence showed that.

But then…if he didn't… _why had he done this?_

"You left him at Rockland." Her words were so stiff, they could be snapped into two. Wisely, he just listened. He shut up. "He thought you had some kind of plan. So he didn't call me for help. And I didn't realize he was there." With this, the last moment they had shared passed briefly between them, and Kay's anger faltered only briefly, to be replaced instead with harrowing sadness and hurt. Once she stumbled into it, it was difficult to drag herself out. Not only because it had been a cruel act in the first place. But because she had genuinely liked Jonathan. She'd wanted to help him. She'd vouched for him time and time again, and she had listened to Cameron recount numerous stories from their childhood, all with the same amount of fondness which must have rubbed off on her in some way.

She had liked Jonathan Black. And now here they were.

The falter was only for a heartbeat. It passed quickly, and once it did, she was leaning right back into that anger. Harder, almost, to make sure she didn't make the mistake a second time. But her anger made it difficult to keep a clearer head. To figure out what to say— what words to pick. What to tell Jonathan, because she knew without a doubt that Cameron wanted her to say absolutely nothing. She could practically hear him now, begging her to stop before she said something she couldn't take away. Jonathan kept staring at her with that same look on his face, and she eventually forced out the best thing she could manage. "I didn't find out until three days later, when I went to see him myself. He was refusing visitors. I…had to take him to the hospital. He's been recovering at home ever since."

"What _happened_?" Jonathan pressed.

She inhaled quickly and stepped away from the door to go over to the table. Still, she didn't sit. "I want to talk about you and MW," she said thinly. "I want you to tell me exactly _why_ you left, _where_ you went, _what_ you were doing—"

"I want to know what happened to my brother," Jonathan interrupted.

"You didn't want that two weeks ago," Kay growled immediately.

His eyes narrowed defensively. However, his voice was noticeably more fragile when he tried to keep going. "I made a mistake." She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she turned her back to him. "I made a _mistake_ , I need to make it r _ight_ , I need to know what—"

She whirled around again. "What you _need_ to do right now, is understand the _position_ that you are in," she hissed. He jerked at the sharp reaction, but she bypassed it. "And I'll be the first to let you know: it is _not_ a position you can sit and demand things from. Right now, I'm going to need you to just—"

"He said in his voicemail someone broke his hand," Jonathan interjected yet again. She closed her eyes and gnashed her teeth together. "He kept saying 'they'— was he attacked? Was he doing something—?"

"He isn't to be blamed _for anything that happened_!" she practically snarled. "In _any w_ ay!"

"But he _did_ —?"

"Jonathan, I brought you here to have you tell me—"

"Why was he panicking? He couldn't even breathe, he was— he wasn't even _Cameron_!" Kay seethed. It was getting harder and harder to keep a lid on it. Jonathan had all the pieces, she _knew_ he did. He was holding them in his hands and he could see them plainly. It was just his desire _not to_ that was keeping him from clicking it all together. It wasn't on his mind, and why should it be? It hadn't been on anyone else's. It wasn't on the team's minds, until she'd handed them those antibiotics. The only reason it had been on _her_ mind was because she had seen so many other people. Had she not, she would have avoided the explanation like the plague as well. Just like Jonathan was doing, now. Smart as he was – genius as he was – he didn't want this. So he was refusing to take it himself. He was waiting for the audible answer instead. The one she couldn't give him.

"We're here to discuss your part in this. Nothing else."

"When he answered the door he just—"

" _Jonathan_." Her voice was getting more and more strained. "You don't understand."

' _What happened to you?'_

' _Please don't ask me that.'_

"Because you're not _telling_ me anything! That's my _brother_!"

' _Maybe I trusted him so much…I didn't see anything else. I didn't see…how much he hated me.'_

"He can decide for himself whether or not he wants to tell you, I don't have any right to make that decision for him."

' _I just don't want you to see me like this.'_

"He couldn't even _look_ at me let alone say anything! If I knew what happened I could—"

"We are not here to discuss this." Her voice broke on the last two words. It was getting away from her. All of it was.

' _I don't even want to remember it. Much less talk about it.'_

"I deserve to—"

"You don't deserve _anything_ ," she spat.

' _It was horrible, Kay, it was— …and I couldn't—'_

"I'm trying to make things righ—"

" _Jonathan, we are here to—"_

"I'll tell you _everything_ , I just want to know how Cameron is!"

' _I'm not good enough for you. Not anymore.'_

"You have _no right_ to just _walk back in here_ and pretend that you didn't—"

"You have no right to keep this from me!" he burst. "I _know_ I made a mistake, and I _know_ something happened to him because of it! I want to make it right, but I want to know what—!"

" _He was raped!"_ It burst out before she could stop it. She'd been trying to keep a hold on it, she'd been trying to keep it back. But she couldn't take it anymore. It fell out, and once it did there was no changing it. Once it did, the anger she had built in front of her like a protective barrier immediately fell. Her glare melted. Her expression crumbled instead, and her vision immediately smeared with a painful surge of water. She couldn't even see Jonathan's reaction clearly. Everything was a blur. She was far too overwhelmed.

The moment it came out, she was horrified. She was horrified she had told him, when she knew that Cameron wouldn't have wanted her to in a million years. She could see her friend's face now, filled with shock and hurt and most of all that horrible burning shame that she had seen him wear time and again. She could see him stumble away from her, shaking his head and fumbling for the doorknob to get out and run away— to hide, because that was what was easiest to do. She was horrified she had taken the choice away from him on whether or not to tell his brother. She was horrified she had let herself get so upset it had slipped out so thoughtlessly.

But she was more horrified by the simple fact that it was _true_. And further even than that, she was horrified because this was the very first time it was being openly acknowledged. This was the first time that the word had actually been said. Not danced around, not hinted at, not gestured vaguely to, but actually s _aid_. And now that it _was_ , it made it all even worse. It hung far too heavy in the air, it tasted like acid on her tongue, but the second it was given life, she couldn't stop. The second she said it, she couldn't find the brakes. She couldn't keep her tears back, or her voice from shaking. She couldn't stop anything.

"He was r _aped_!" she repeated, her voice shattering to pieces on the word. When she stopped and stared at him, she could feel how hard her lips were trembling. Maybe that was why she rushed on. Maybe that was why she kept yelling. "I don't _know_ anything else— I can't _tell you anything else_! I don't know by _who_ , I don't know by _how many_ people, _I don't know how many times!"_ She inhaled sharply, every breath coming more like a gasp now.

Jonathan was silent.

Good. Because he didn't deserve to talk.

"All I know is that it happened because he was in that prison. Because _you_ stuck him there!" she choked. "All I know is that even when he wa _s_ , he _still_ didn't call me for help. He _stayed_ there in that place, f _or you._ To still be there whenever you decided to come back for him." Her voice was filled with scorn, now. She reached up to wipe roughly at her cheeks, but by this point it was probably a lost cause. "And even when he got home, he was _still_ trying to fight for you— he was still trying to convince me that— that you had a _plan_ , that you were coming _back_ , that you couldn't possibly have done this just to—" She broke off, closing her eyes and shaking her head hard. "I don't even know why you would do it," she growled. "I can't even finish that sentence."

It was a very long time before Jonathan could get anything out. When he did, it didn't matter that Kay hadn't been able to make out his facial expression. It was there. The shock, the numbness, the confusion. And the guilt. The guilt was finally where it belonged, slowly gaining life to take up every single syllable and crevice of his words, and Kay waited to feel the satisfaction. She was waiting to feel the justice that she had been waiting to feel this entire time, once she saw his face freeze over in horror and culpability. But she didn't. She didn't feel anything when he started to unwind. She just felt empty.

"He…he was…?" Now that the answer had been given, he could click those pieces together. At first going far too slowly, because he was still hoping that when they were put together they would make a different picture. But once he realized it was inevitable, it was coming together faster. His eyes were widening more, and the shock and guilt could be mixed with anger, too. Blinking against her own tears, she saw that Jonathan's eyes were misting over fast. His voice was thicker when he picked it up again. She could hear it beginning to shake and cave in on itself. "He was— …no, he wasn't— not…"

She just wiped her eyes again and glared at him. At the insinuation she would make any of this up.

He inhaled quickly and shook his head hard. He resembled someone who had just gotten punched and was trying to regather themselves before it could happen again. Eventually he could spit something out, the more he managed the feat. "You have to let me see him," he choked after a second, rushing through the words so much that they practically blended together. She looked away. He didn't care. "You have to let me see him, you have to let me talk to him— I need to talk to him!" She bit down on her lower lip, struggling to keep herself composed. "I need to _see him_!" Jonathan yelled, his eyes almost as crazed and desperate as Cameron's had been when he'd been yanked out of whatever nightmare had been plaguing him. _"I need to know he's okay!"_

"Do you?" she asked, the two words hollow enough to hold water. With no feeling there at all.

Suddenly, it was all gone. All her anger, all her betrayal, all her fight. It was drained, and she was left with absolutely nothing. She could only stand there in silence and let her tears fall, feeling her chest yawn emptily and painfully. The words were all on the tip of her tongue. All the yelling she had built up in her mind. All the things she'd thought to tell Jonathan when she had had to listen to Cameron sob or wake up screaming. They were there, but suddenly she didn't see a point in hurling them at him. She didn't see what it would change. Because they wouldn't. No amount of yelling could change what had happened.

Jonathan had done this. He was the reason the light was extinguished from Cameron's eyes. He was the reason he never smiled anymore. He was the reason he couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. He hadn't actually done anything, but the reason Cameron had been able to be assaulted was solely on him. If Cameron hadn't been in that prison, he would be standing with her right now, perfectly fine and perfectly healthy. If Jonathan hadn't done this, who knows what would be happening at this very moment. But whatever it was, it wouldn't be this. It wouldn't involve so much crying, so much heartache. She wouldn't have to be hearing that word…and she definitely wouldn't have been associating it with Cameron.

She had everything she wanted to say ready. It was there.

Suddenly, she just couldn't get it out.

But given the way that Jonathan was staring at her, the words must have found their way onto her face somehow. Or maybe it was all was just sinking in. Maybe he was just realizing it all, because with every passing moment, he was weakening more and more. His expression was becoming more wrought with the horror and guilt that Kay had faced every single day she had been with Cameron and he had not. He was going pale. Still not as pale as Cameron. "You have to let me see him!" he begged. Kay just looked at him with a horrible kind of disappointment. It was only making him worse. "At least a phone call— let me call him! Let me talk to him! _I have to talk to him!"_ He was crying. Trying not to let the tears fall as he glowered instead, but very soon he would be failing. " _Please!_ He's my _brother_ , I have to see him!"

She was too tired.

She wanted to be with Cameron. She wanted to make sure he was okay.

Which was why when the door clicked and opened, it was nothing short of a miracle.

Deakins came into the interrogation room, her expression already somber. And she only sobered more once she saw the two, and the state that they were both in. Her eyes flashed when they rested on Jonathan. She looked to Kay, and the other immediately looked away with a tiny cough, reaching up to wipe at her eyes, just as uselessly as before. Deakins was silent as she took all of this in. Despite it all, she was as calm as ever when she eventually spoke. "Kay, I think I can take it from here." Her voice was unnaturally soft. Quieter, than usual. When Kay looked at her, she could see her lips were slightly pursed, and her expression only betraying the tiniest of strains.

Out of habit, she began to object. "I can stay." She _did_ want to. She knew leaving Deakins to handle this situation would be leaving the situation in good enough hands. But at the same time, if she left, she would just be wondering what was happening, or what was being decided in the meantime. She wanted to know what was on that USB. Whether or not it was worth destroying Cameron over, because that was what it had taken to get it sitting on this table. Yet she couldn't get Cameron out of her head. If part of her wanted to stay, the part that wanted to rush to him was greater. Even if he wouldn't take her, which she was sure he wouldn't, she just wanted to know he was okay. She wanted to at least see him.

Deakins must have understood this. Everyone knew about Cameron. Everyone asked her about him on a daily basis. Mike was a fountain of questions, all day long. Asking if he was okay, if he had slept any, if he'd eaten or if any other remote progress was to be found. Kay was almost positive that everyone was planning a welcome back party for him behind her back, whenever it was he did finally come back in. Deakins had not been one of these people that hounded her for answers. But she did care. She showed that with the case files the other day. And she was showing it now, in the tiniest of looks, as her eyes softened in something close to pain. "You don't need to do anything more, Kay. Not here," she pressed. "You can do more elsewhere."

Jonathan was looking between the two of them in silence, but with this he looked at Kay hollowly. Still with that harrowing guilt, but now with confusion as well. And silent desperation, as if she would take him along with her.

"I…" She fumbled with her words. "You don't have to," she managed. "I can—"

"Go," she urged, a finality now in her tone that warned against further argument. Kay wasn't sure whether she was weak with relief or weak with sorrow when her superior insisted: "You've done enough. Go be with Cameron."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was only thanks to Dina and Jordan that Kay was allowed back into the Archive. This entire time, Gunter had been less than welcoming of Kay, but now he wanted absolutely nothing to do with her. The very moment she knocked, she could hear the fighting. And when the door was open, Gunter only stayed in the room long enough to fix her with a scathing glare before he turned and went upstairs. Apparently he couldn't even stomach the mere sight of her.

They met her with questions. Demanding to know what Jonathan had said, where he had been, what was going to happen, and so on. Most of them, she hadn't been able to answer. All she could give really was the fact he had the USB— not that she had been able to see the actual stuff that was on it. At the news, there was only silence. No celebration, but no disapproval either. Just…silence. They'd exchanged a look, but both their expressions had been so conflicted, there was nothing to be gained from it. She'd told them Deakins had taken everything from her and would continue to take it from here on out. It had been an offer made out of kindness but business as well— it was clear Kay was too emotionally attached to this case to handle it professionally. However, she was certain that she would be given updates. If not from her, then certainly from Mike, as he was certain to get up to speed on every little detail.

Then it had been her turn to ask questions. They'd given her their answers softly, and with trepidation. But they hadn't had much to give, either.

He was like he used to be, when she peered into Jonathan's room. Suddenly, it felt like she'd been dragged back in time to when he first got home, and he would spend every single day, not just the bad ones, hidden underneath the blankets like a turtle taking refuge in its shell. When he would refuse to speak to anyone, and just try not to show too plainly he was crying. The pain it inflicted to see him like that again now was enough to take her breath away at once.

They had come so far… _he_ had come so far, and now what? Was it all for nothing?

"Cameron?" He didn't react much to her call. There was only the tiniest of shifts— most likely only to pull the blanket tighter around himself. She took it as an invitation in, even if it was probably anything but. Though she walked slowly, and her hands clenched in front of her as she did. "Are you okay?" she breathed.

She could barely hear him. His voice was dull and lifeless. "Did you take him back?"

"No." She stopped once she reached the bed and hesitated for a long moment before she took a seat on its very edge. She could see Cameron's face now in the dark, and she saw his eyes flicker over to her briefly when she did sit. "Deakins…is handling it from now on. He's in the FBI's custody right now; he's not going to go anywhere." Cameron looked back front. The expression on his face was so desolate she was almost certain it couldn't possibly be his. "I'm sorry you had to answer the door," she murmured after a moment, just because there was so many things she was sorry for right now, and this was just the easiest to apologize for. He didn't bat an eye. "It would have been easier if one of us did. It could have gone over better."

He said nothing.

She swallowed back the lump in her throat so she could go on. "And…Cameron, I can't… _tell_ you how sorry I am for what I did, either." It looked like Cameron was going to fight her again, so she rushed on before he had the chance to. She just had to get this out first. "I wasn't thinking, and it was wrong of me, and you had every right to push me away. I don't blame you at all. And I respect your decision— I wouldn't ever try and do anything you didn't want me to. It's fine if you don't…want anything. I just want you to be happy, and if that's what will help you be happier, then it's perfectly okay. I don't mind at all. I just want what's best for you."

Cameron continued staring straight ahead, but she saw his expression become strained the more she had to address the issue. She hesitated before she continued, moving on because she knew he likely didn't want to talk about it at all anymore. "But…you can't _keep_ pushing me away. Like _this._ Pushing _all of us_ away." Her voice grew injured with this, and when his eyes flickered back over to her, she saw that they were just as raw with pain. "I understand how hard it is. I understand it's just getting harder. But it hurts when we see you hurting, and we can't do anything about it. It hurts when we can't help." She wilted, and pressed even softer: "You're not alone, Cameron. You don't have to go through all of this alone. You just have to let some of us in."

He was still unresponsive. She could see everything on his face, though.

"…It's okay not to be okay, Cameron," she dared to press.

He stiffened when she said this. His eyes rounded out just a fraction, and they flashed with some kind of emotion she wasn't sure she was familiar enough to distinguish. For a very long time he wasn't able to say anything. He just stared at the opposite wall. He didn't reply to her. When he did speak, it was something completely different. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe the hollowness in his voice spoke more volumes than she thought. "What's going to happen now?"

She hesitated. "I'm not sure."

"…Did he have a plan?" She could hardly hear this one, it was so quiet. So frightened of what the answer would be.

Her chest tore. She had to look away from him, down to her hands. "I don't think so," she rasped eventually. He closed his eyes tightly. A cringe started to set itself over his face. "He said he came back because you changed his mind. He said…something about voicemails." She knew Cameron had tried to call him— she hadn't known he'd left messages. But the look on his face made her certain he knew exactly what she was talking about. He pulled the blanket up over his nose.

His growing disappointment was already overwhelming. Kay felt awful, seeing him crumble like this. She knew that despite everything…despite all the evidence they had, despite all that had happened because of him and all that Cameron had said recently, _some_ part of him had still been clinging to the idea that it all wasn't true. That Jonathan was still his brother. Still all that he remembered. Not someone who would abandon him or leave him behind. This was the final nail in the coffin, that finally took that away from him. She could see that hope he'd kept desperate hold of this entire time begin to slip away. Fall through his fingers like sand.

And even though she was furious at Jonathan…even though she knew that no possible reason he'd had of leaving would _ever_ make what had happened right…Kay couldn't bear to see this look on Cameron's face. She had to try and help, in any way that she could. So she offered the only thing she could think of that might help. Or, if not help, then just make the tiniest bit of difference. "He had…all the evidence that proves he's innocent," she murmured. She watched Cameron carefully, and she didn't mistake the fact that he went rigid. He opened his eyes again, and the blanket inched down off his mouth. "He said…it wasn't the reason why he left at first. But…he _did_ get it."

Cameron's eyes were wide. Quietly, he whispered: "He got the flash drive?"

Her throat was too hot to actually reply. So she just nodded.

He sat with this information for a moment, like it was in another language and in order to react to it, he had to first translate it. Once he did, his eyes started to brighten. He began to smile, weakly at first, but getting surer the more it grew. Kay was silent, her heart twisting as, just for a moment, he was the old Cameron. As he lit up with happiness, and laughter even began to bubble up from the back of his throat. He looked so relieved, and ecstatic. Truly happy, and so painfully _himself._ Kay watched, finding herself clinging to this tiny flash of what he had been before this whole thing started. Feeling like someone was stabbing her as she watched him beam.

It hurt immensely. But it was _nothing_ compared to how bad it hurt when the inevitable came.

When his laughs got thicker and his breathing hitched. When his smile got too wide, because he was struggling to keep it on. When he started to duck his head down and push it more into the pillow. When he closed his eyes tightly and his expression broke into a deep cringe. When he wasn't laughing anymore, and suddenly he was crying instead. He was trying not to, she could tell, but he couldn't help it and eventually he was just sobbing, staggering underneath the weight of everything he had been trying to keep up this entire time.

Kay had to fight not to flinch away from it herself. She had to make a conscious effort not to blink, so that her own tears might have less of a chance of falling. She didn't say anything at all. She knew that, right now, there was nothing _to_ say. But she knew she couldn't leave. She knew she didn't want to. So, keeping silent, she just reached out and put a hand gently on Cameron's shoulder, only applying the tiniest of pressures so that he would know she was there and nothing else. She waited for him to shake her off or tell her to leave. He didn't do either. He just kept crying, the only sound being his sharp gasps or sniffles. They seemed to fill up the entire room. Oppressive and horrible to listen to.

But still, she stayed. She would stay as long as he allowed her to.

And she would let him cry, in the hopes that maybe this time, when it was over, he'd feel just the smallest bit better.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Whenever there's a problem, your natural instinct is to ignore it.

The attempt can be short-lived. Miniscule. Like when you break a vase. You turn around too quickly, you bump against the table too hard. And you hear that crack – the shatter – and instantly, you know what's happened. You know exactly what the sound was, and why it was there, and you flinch away from it. But at the same time…you hesitate before you turn. For a split second, despite the fact that you know it's not true, you think that if you just don't look at the mess, it won't exist. So you stand there in hesitation, even in that couple of seconds, trying to deny the facts as they are and thinking that's enough.

Or it can stretch out. You wake up one day feeling awful, like your stomach is about to burst. But you don't want to go to the doctor out of the simple fear that there actually _is_ an issue. Every day you feel worse, and you _know_ it plainly. But you still deny it. You ignore it and ignore it, until eventually you're in a hospital bed with all the physicians commenting that had you just come in _sooner_ , this all could have been avoided. But you didn't _want_ to acknowledge it sooner. Acknowledging it sooner is facing the problem sooner. And you don't want to do that.

The longer a person can stay in denial, the happier they are.

So that's what was happening now.

Not that they haven't been in denial this entire time. Not that they hadn't been trying to take this entire situation and stuff it away out of sight ever since it fell into their laps. But now it was even worse. Now it was more apparent. Now, you could practically _feel_ the tension in the air— you could feel the weight of what everyone wasn't saying. The situation that everyone was tiptoeing around. You could see it in everyone's eyes as well, and you could see it in the darkened TV screens and the powered-down laptops. In the drawn windows, and the locked doors. The team had done their best to isolate the Archive from the rest of the world. To make it so that a protective bubble was around it and nothing else could get in, no matter how hard it tried.

He wasn't stupid. He saw all of this.

He saw the way everyone looked at him. He saw that when he did get up in the morning and go out to the kitchen, there was no newspaper to be seen. He saw the way Gunter and Jordan glared at each other like they were both fit to kill the other at any possible second. He saw the sadness in Dina's eyes when she thought he wasn't paying any attention to her looking at him. He heard the way everyone stopped talking the second he entered the room. He noticed that Kay didn't come back, and that Gunter was clearly happy about this. So much so that it wasn't a difficult leap to wonder if he was the one keeping her away.

Cameron noticed all of it. But maybe at this point it was just too far gone.

He didn't care.

Or…maybe it wasn't that he _didn't_ care. Maybe it was just that he _couldn't._

Which one was worse? _Was_ one worse than the other? Did it matter? Not a whole lot did, anymore.

The bottom line was nobody else was bringing up Jonathan. And he was tired of fighting.

It was good that Kay didn't come back. He didn't know what to say to her, and just looking at her now hurt like hell. And he was tired of hurting. And it was good that everyone stopped talking when he walked into the room— he didn't want to talk. He just stopped trying in the first place. He just stayed in his room. It was too much to get around, anyway. And it was good that nobody told him what was happening with Jonathan, or that Jonathan never tried to contact him again, because it was just easier this way. He didn't know what he would say to Jonathan anyway, and just the attempt of thinking about everything and trying to organize his feelings made him feel sick enough to vomit. That wasn't even touching on the horrible feeling he got when he realized how pathetic he must have seemed to his brother with that whole coming back situation.

It was all easier, and it was all better like this. Cameron preferred it. Pretending nothing was happening. Pretending that it was all fine and nothing was happening and all that existed were the four walls of a room that wasn't even his. He wasn't ignorant. He knew exactly what was happening…what the team was trying to protect him from even though at this point it didn't matter. The fact that Gunter was likely barring Kay from coming back. The fact that each time he got up and shut his door, it would inexplicably be cracked open again not thirty minutes later— a fact he grew to just accept because eventually walking the five feet to the door was too imposing a task. He knew the team was worried, and he knew their concern only mounted with each passing day he refused everything from food to speaking.

He knew all of it. It just wasn't important.

If he didn't look at the mess, maybe it wouldn't be there. Maybe the vase was still intact despite the crashing.

Denial was easier. He'd take it any day of the week. Anyone would. Anyone _smart_.

Mind over matter, and it _didn't even_ matter.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The atmosphere in the kitchen was so tense you could run straight into it, like a brick wall. Dina was leaning back against the sink and Jordan was leaning against the counter opposite. Gunter was sitting at the table, pretending to read a book. Nobody had spoken all morning. Not even a tiny 'hello.' She pressed her lips together tightly and she glanced down at the floor, allowing herself a moment of hesitation. But her mind was made up, and her voice was sure and flat when she did speak. The other two stiffened at the unexpected bravery it took in breaking the long-held silence. "Kay called again this morning," Dina announced, and she wasn't blind at all Gunter's immediate frown. She continued on, quickly, so he didn't have the time to interrupt. "She gave me an update, and she asked if she could come and see Cameron, and—"

"She's treating him like a _child_ ," Gunter growled. Dina gritted her teeth, trying not to make too harsh a face. He didn't look up from his book and he flipped to the next page with much more force than was actually necessary. "Or a _dog_ ," he continued. "Like he's some sideshow she can walk in and stare at whenever she—"

" _Stop it,"_ Dina snapped at once. Usually her fuse was pretty long. The longest in comparison of the group, that is. But these days it was running much shorter. Everyone's was. Her expression was already strained when she went on. "You _know_ that's not why she asked. You should feel bad she feels like she has to ask at all! She shouldn't! She's the reason Cameron is out of jail in the first place, Gunter— you _know_ without a doubt that if she hadn't gone there that day and found him, he would still be in there and—" She pressed her lips together and shook her head, not able to quite finish the thought. She went on, her voice regaining its edge. "And out of all of us she's helped Cameron the most, too— it's ridiculous she feels like she has to ask, and it's ridiculous _you're_ the reason she does!"

"It's not like Cameron wants to see her!" Gunter snapped, closing his book now. She glowered, but said nothing, leaving him the chance to go on. He met her poisonous stare head-on. Jordan was impressed she didn't back down at all from his enraged scowl. "Not after what she did! Are you really going to defend her? After what she did that night she was supposed to be making sure he was alright!?" Dina rolled her eyes and glared uncomfortably off to the side. "Cameron was worlds better, he was almost back to normal, and she undoes all of that in less than five minutes! When she should know better than anyone else what _not_ to do!"

"Are you angry about _that_? Or are you angry about the way she treated _Jonathan_?" Dina demanded scathingly, looking back to him.

He jerked, like the question was a slap. His forehead creased. "And what's that question supposed to mean?" he growled after a pause.

"You know exactly what it means, Gunter," Dina flashed. "It's not fair to Cameron for you to tell Kay she's not welcome here when you're not even—"

"Not even what!? You think I'm not worried about Cameron!?" he demanded. Dina was shaking her head, but the damage had been done. "Of course I'm worried about Cameron, how could I not be!? He's practically half the weight he was before he left, he can't sleep for five minutes without waking up screaming— he _still_ refuses to eat anything! You think I see all of that and don't even care!? The reason he's like this is because of Kay! Because of the whole FBI!"

"I don't remember the FBI knocking him out and leaving him stranded in prison," Jordan grumbled.

Gunter whirled around to turn his glare on him, and he opened his mouth, clearly ready to snap at him like he'd just snapped at Dina. When Dina cut him off immediately with a soft but thorn-sharp hiss. "Stop, _stop!"_ And it was the urgency in her voice, familiar by this point, that made both Gunter and Jordan alike turn switches, like nothing had even happened. Gunter's head snapped back down to the book in front of him, and Jordan had just enough time to craft a smile onto his face when Cameron walked into the room. It was miracle Dina had heard him in time, though she wasn't sure on whether or not he'd been able to hear Gunter from down the hall. He had a particularly loud voice. All the same, she greeted him with a warm smile, and an even warmer: "Good morning, Cameron."

He blinked, his eyes flickering between the three of them. Dina couldn't figure out the look on his face— it was completely blank, and yet at the same time, it was far too clouded with emotion. She didn't really stop very long to figure out what it was exactly— her worries were instantly drawn to everything else about him instead. His eyes were red and irritated, and it was almost too difficult to tell whether they were bags underneath them, or just more of his bruises, they were so dark.

Cameron said nothing, so Dina reluctantly just kept trying. "Do you want something to eat?" she offered, much too hopefully. Ever since the night with Kay practically, Cameron had eaten next to nothing. He'd probably had around five bites of something, and that number was being rather generous. Whenever Dina actually coerced him into getting something down, no matter how small a bite he took it seemed the equivalent of choking back a pill two sizes too big. And nine times out of ten, he would end up getting sick anyway, and all the effort would be for nothing.

But still. It had already been so long. He couldn't keep not eating.

However, she got the answer she was expecting. "No." He gave up looking between everyone, apparently unsurprised at what he saw and unwilling to look at it for much longer. He started walking again, and everyone was painfully aware of how small and shuffling each step was. He reached out and held to the wall for as long as he could with his unfractured hand as he walked, like he was trying not to fall. He was certainly swaying enough to prove he was at risk of it.

Dina weakened. Her eyes tracked his every little move, and automatically, she started to move so she could follow him. "Are you sure?" she pressed. "I could…I could make some waffles!" Those were always his favorite. Of course, he would layer about a pound of syrup on top of them and pour nearly half the bag of powdered sugar on top too, but he never turned down an offer of her homemade waffles. Unhealthy as it was, it would at least be _something_. Something other than…

Her hopes were dashed when Cameron went where she was dreading. He walked past the kitchen, to the coffee machine. She closed her eyes briefly and glanced back at the other two, but they were just as frustrated as she was. She looked back and took in a quick breath before she tried to intervene. Cameron hadn't been able to eat anything lately, but what he _did_ get down was coffee. Coffee and those little bottles of 5-hour Energies that he'd swiped from the kitchen at some point. Dina had no idea where he'd put them, but she did see a couple of the empty bottles on his bedside table the last time she'd gone into his room.

He was trying to avoid sleep. Which they should have seen coming.

"Cameron…did you sleep at all last night?" she prodded gently, her hands clasping tight in front of her.

His answer was just as short as it was before. And it was exactly the same. "No." He started to make a cup, his eyes dull and exhausted as he watched the liquid gradually rise up to the brim.

Dina wilted. She took a tiny step closer. "Well— Cameron, maybe…don't have any more coffee right now," she tried. He didn't even react. "You can go back to bed— we'll be quiet. You can get a couple of hours at the least…" She knew the noise wasn't the issue at all. It was a miracle if _anyone_ said anything these days. This was probably the perfect place right now to sleep in, because it was so dead silent. Cameron said nothing and just kept watching the coffee pour out. Her eyes flickered from him to the cup, a frown worrying her features when she saw that it was getting pretty full. "Cameron?" He still didn't even blink. It was like he was frozen. "Cameron!"

The instant she yelled his name, the coffee spilled out over the top and splashed down over his hand. His eyes flooded with intelligence again and he stiffened in pain. He jerked his hand back and dropped the coffee entirely, making it spill everywhere. Dina wasn't even paying attention to the mess, though; she rushed forward immediately as Cameron pulled his hand up to his chest. "Cameron, are you okay?" He staggered and she reached out to hold his shoulders, watching him with a crestfallen expression. He didn't answer— he only cringed. She shook her head. "Cameron…you need to sleep," she pleaded. Already, he was shaking his head. "You haven't slept in ages, Cameron, it's not healthy for you."

"No, it's _not_." Dina drew back at the reply that didn't really make a lot of sense. By definition, it sounded like it was supposed to be an agreement. But the words were barbed and irritated, and it sounded like it was supposed to be an argument instead. Like he really meant 'No, it's _not_ not healthy.' He cringed again, blearily, and he straightened, clenching his hand in pain and trying to get all the hot coffee off it. He straightened and sighed and seemed to have to take a second to regather himself before he could get his body to listen enough and start making another up. "M'fine," he mumbled. "I don't need to sleep."

She hesitated only a moment before her eyes narrowed and she grew a little sterner. It physically hurt her to be harder on him when he was like this. But at the same time, there had to be a line somewhere. "Cameron. Sleep, or food," she pressed. Cameron closed his eyes and grumbled something under his breath that she couldn't hear. He didn't stop making another cup. " _Sleep._ Or food," she repeated, harder this time. "You're going to have to pick one."

His eyes flashed. By now he had the cup and it was clear that now all he wanted to do was withdraw again. There was no telling when he would come back out once he did retreat. So when he started to turn and head unsteadily back the way he'd come, Dina was already opening her mouth to fight as she tried to stand in his way. However, the very moment she started to attempt both, he spoke first. His voice was dull and flat, but still somehow saturated with bitterness. He lifted his exhausted gaze to hers, and the second he spoke, everything she was prepared to say fell away immediately. She was rendered completely mute.

"What are you gonna do?" he asked, his voice dead. " _Force_ me?"

He may as well have smacked her. She jerked backwards, blinking fast as she just stared at him. She tried to get something out, but under his stare it wasn't possible. He raised his eyebrows, like he was daring her to try. But at the same time, underneath the anger he was wearing like a blanket, was bone-shaking sorrow and defeat. In the face of that, she didn't know what to do. Which was just what Cameron knew would happen, apparently. When he brushed by her to head back down the hall, she just stepped away to make sure she didn't bump into him. She didn't try and call after him. She didn't even watch him go.

She just stared straight ahead, hollow and disheartened.

Feeling Gunter and Jordan staring at her, but not knowing what to say.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He was starting to feel sick. And not just when he got up anymore— he felt sick all the time. Usually part of the reason why he stayed in bed, other than just avoiding the constant fighting or glaring or awkwardness that took place outside, was because whenever he had to walk his head would spin and his stomach would heave. Like his body was too conflicted on whether it wasn't to collapse entirely or vomit everywhere so it was just lingering somewhere in the gray area between. Usually as long as he laid down it was alright.

But now he felt that way even when he was in bed. It felt like the room was a top going around and around, and even when he closed his eyes to try and focus it all, his stomach still knotted with nausea. He was exhausted but he could never sleep. And the thought of eating almost made the threat of getting sick less of a threat and more of an actual thing. So he was trying to just stay in bed, not getting up for anything. The lights stayed off to keep his head from ringing. He'd closed the door to try and keep that light out too, but Dina's new goal in life was to make sure it was always cracked, so that was out the window. He was too weak to get up and fix it, so cracked it stayed.

Which was probably the main reason why he heard them.

"…ridiculous, _no, this is ridiculous! And I'm going to say it! I know you're thinking it too, Dina!"_ Jordan sounded furious. Cameron cringed blearily when he did, but he turned his head over towards the door. _"This is stupid! And he can't come back here!"_

"Jordan…" Dina's voice was quieter. She was trying to diffuse the situation. The rest of it was lost.

" _No— did the judge even see Cameron!? If he could see Cameron—"_

" _It's not about Cameron!"_ He could hear Gunter yelling. _"Not this part! You—"_

" _Did you just say this_ isn't _about Cameron!?"_ Jordan burst. _"You've_ got _to be kidding me! I thought you didn't care before but now it's just obvious you—"_

" _We're not talking about the other half, we're talking about—"_

" _You_ can't _talk about one without the other!"_ Jordan snapped. _"He deserves to stay in prison because of what_ he _had happen to Cameron! Bottom line! He deserves to go right back where he was! He deserves to get what happened to him, tenfold!"_

"Don't say that…" Dina interjected.

Cameron swallowed a little thickly as he slowly picked his head up off the pillow. Immediately, he was dizzy, and had to stop and breathe through a wave of nausea. He waited for it to pass, and it didn't really, but it passed _enough,_ so he wormed out from underneath the covers and forced himself up to his feet. The process was slow, and he had to pause multiple times. A bad taste was on the back of his tongue by the time he shuffled towards the door. The hallway was rocking back and forth and the walls looked like they were shaking by this point, but he just continued to do what he'd been doing this entire time: he was ignoring it.

He opened the door and started down the hall, having to walk along with his hand against the wall just in case he stumbled. Which he did a couple of times. He listened to the fighting, which got louder the closer he got. Jordan was yelling about how unfair it was, and Gunter was snapping that he should be happy and that everything he was saying was irrelevant. "They're not talking about anything else, they're just saying the evidence that's there is enough to prove—"

Jordan wasn't letting him finish. "He betrayed Cameron and he betrayed _us_!" he spat. "There's no coming back from that! There _shouldn't_ be any coming back from that! He can't come back here! If the evidence _is_ taken, and if somehow he _is_ let off for literally _trapping Cameron in prison and ruining his entire life,_ then he shouldn't be allowed back here! You shouldn't w _ant_ him here!"

Cameron was staggering more and more. He was getting closer, but the second he actually rounded the corner he had to stop. He gripped the wall and grimaced hard, his swaying too severe to keep walking. His heart was picking up in his ears, and it was making everything hard to hear. This was the most he'd heard mention of Jonathan this entire time. And it was _this_. He looked up and had to blink to try and steady his vision. The three of them were standing around the table a ways away from him. Jordan and Gunter looked about two seconds from killing each other. Dina was tense and trying to settle them down, like she usually was. He tried to get his feet to move more, but suddenly everything was rocking too much.

"He's done so much for us, he's our _friend_!"

"We _thought_ he was! But newsflash, Gunter: friends don't get friends—!"

"That's _enough_!" Dina snapped. "Nothing's been decided yet! So instead of fighting like a pair of _idiots_ , how about we figure out what we're going to tell Cam—!" Dina finally caught sight of Cameron, who had hardly gotten around the wall from the hallway. Her eyes widened at the state he was in, and she immediately forgot what all they were talking about. "Cameron! Darling, are you alright!? What are you doing up!?" Cameron couldn't reply— suddenly he was winded, like he'd just sprinted two miles instead of just having walked a little bit down the hall. He was trying to open his mouth, trying to formulate words and ask them what was happening. But his tongue wouldn't listen. His head wouldn't clear enough to accomplish the task.

"'s…is he…?" He grimaced. He was seeing spots. He shouldn't have gotten up like this. He shouldn't have walked this far. His heartbeat was too loud, too fast. Why was it so fast? "Is Jonathan…?"

"Cameron, you need to lay back down," Dina objected. She got herself into motion and withdrew from the others to make her way over to him. Once she realized how severe his swaying was, she quickened her pace and started to reach out as if to catch him. There was a world of regret on her face, but he was too distracted to notice. He was too distracted to notice much of anything, really. His head was ducked and he didn't have the strength to pick it back up. His left knee was starting to buckle, and he tried to hold onto the wall tighter. But that was slipping, too. He was dizzy. He was just so dizzy… Dina started to run, her eyes flying wide. "Cameron!"

He still tried to speak. Communicate. "'s…Johnny…?"

He couldn't finish. The black spots were turning into blobs which were slowly taking up his entire line of sight. The room must have tilted a little bit too much to one side because he couldn't hold to the wall anymore, and he fell away from it. His right knee followed the lead of his left and they both refused to lock. His eyes rolled back into his head before they closed, and Cameron started to fall. The last thing he heard was Dina's voice puncturing into a scream of alarm.

At least this time, he didn't have to feel it when he hit the ground.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

When he came back to, he was lying on his side.

It took a second for him to drag himself awake in the first place.

When he did, it took even longer for him to get his bearings.

At first he tensed and locked up. His breathing, which had been slow and regularized up until this point, tightened into a much sharper gasp. But he wasn't laying on the ground, he was back in bed. The soft comfort of a blanket was wrapped around him, and when he jerked, his hands were free and unbound. He blinked fast, flinching once the pain in his head came back to hit him full-force. It was accompanied with a sickening pull in the pit of his stomach and his gasp decayed away into a groan of pain.

"Cameron?" He blinked groggily and looked up to realize Dina was hovering next to the bed anxiously. Her expression was filled with enough worry to fill two swimming pools. But when he looked over at her and actually zeroed in, she deflated with the tiniest hint of relief. "Cameron, darling," she breathed, rushing over before he could stop her and doing something to his hair. She tended to do that when she was worried. Or when she was fussing. Sometimes when she just wanted to annoy him. Though it was probably a better bet to guess the first two were more of the focus right now. He grimaced as his head rung with pain, and her eyes flooded with something similar. "Are you alright? You fainted…"

Cameron kept his eyes closed, finding that it hurt just a little bit less when he did. His voice was nothing but a mumble when he replied. "I'm…fine."

"You're _not_ ," Dina objected at once. Though she sounded more than upset, there was a hardness she was attempting to keep to her voice as well. "Cameron, look at me." He did, but with clear reluctance. She frowned and knelt so that she could rest a hand gently on his cheek. She couldn't possibly ignore how prominent the bone was, there. Still, she wasn't that great at hiding it when her voice lost about half its sternness. "Cameron…you can't keep doing this," she pleaded gently. He tried to move out of her grip, but he felt like he weighed a million pounds. "I know you're upset, darling, I know it's hard…but you _have_ to eat. Just _something_. _Anything_."

He didn't say anything. He felt like he was going to get sick.

"I know you don't want to, Cameron, but if you just eat _a little bit_ , you'll feel better."

"Wh're's…Gunter and Jordan?" he mumbled.

Dina sighed and seemed to deflate in disappointment. All the same, she did answer. "They're gone. For right now." The look on her face was unbelievably strained. For the first time, it really dawned on Cameron how tired _she_ looked. And how stressed she seemed. She looked like she hadn't slept a decent night in weeks, and like she was trying to hold the entire situation on her shoulders. "They…can't be around each other. Or around…" Her eyes flashed awkwardly and she just coughed, instead of actually finishing the thought. She shook her head and ended a little lamely: "I just asked them to leave. For a little while."

Cameron stared at her, and the pit in his stomach just opened wider. The look on his face was still a little fuzzy, but it was slowly fading into something too close to remorse. Dina watched, heartbroken, but the heartbreak was only tripled when Cameron spoke. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He ignored the fact that she was shaking her head. He knew she would— it just didn't matter. "No, I'm sorry— this is happening, I'm ruining everything, I—"

"Cameron, stop." He closed his eyes when he started to feel them burn. He turned so that he could lay on his back instead, so he was facing away from her. She went on anyway, her voice a little choked. "You didn't do anything, Cameron— it's not your fault they can't control themselves. And you don't need any of…that when you're just trying to _recover_. You don't need to feel like anything is your fault, or that you're to be blamed for anything going on. We're just…we're just all stressed out, right now. They needed some time. Time is just what I gave them. It's got nothing to do with you."

Cameron refused to open his eyes. The sick look on his face said everything he didn't.

Dina hesitated but cleared her throat and asked again, a little softer: "Cameron… _please_. Eat something."

Frustration burned underneath his skin. At practically everything. At the fact that he was being ridiculous, and he _knew_ it. But at the same time, he couldn't do anything against it. At the fact that he was the reason the team was fighting, and now they were all split up. That he still had no idea what was happening with his brother, and he still didn't even know himself whether or not he _wanted_ to. Whether he could _handle_ knowing, which was absolutely pathetic. And maybe that was just the best thing to say: he was frustrated that he was so pathetic. That he could change it.

And that his reply, which came out in the form of a clenched sob, was one hundred percent true.

"I _can't_."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

There was a tiny, reluctant knock before she came inside. Her steps were just as reluctant— quiet, in their hesitation. But she came in all the same. Cameron didn't even have to turn to see who it was. He just knew immediately. He opened his eyes but didn't turn to look. All he said, very quietly, was: "I guess you're allowed to be back here, now."

There was a pause, before: "Is that okay?"

He wasn't sure how to answer. By this point, he was pretty sure the damage had already been done when it came to her. Kay had seen more than he wanted anyone else to. She already knew how awful he was— there couldn't be any possible way he could hurt himself even more in her eyes, right? But then again, the universe had taken it upon itself to personally ensure every little thing went wrong for him lately, so he was more than prepared to see how it would twist this one, too. There was a saying that went something like: 'There's nowhere to go but up from here.' He was fairly certain that his version was now officially: 'There's nowhere to go but down!'

"It's fine," he settled on. There was a tiny beat of silence. And in this silence, where neither of them knew what to say, Cameron realized something else. Something smelled different, and he turned to see what she was holding. Immediately, he closed his eyes and turned back. "Kay, no," he tried weakly. "I don't want to eat anything. It'll come right back up, and I'm tired of getting sick."

She looked at him with a heavy heart, and then down to the bowl in her hands. It was homemade soup— a recipe that her mom used to make whenever she got sick that she always used to say would do the trick for anyone. She'd made it in a vain hope that Cameron might like it enough to have more than a couple bites. Dina had told her he wasn't eating, but he looked even worse than she'd tried to brace herself for. And she had tried to force herself to think of the worst-case scenario. Somehow, her worst-case hadn't been severe enough. It ached just to look at him. "Dina says you haven't eaten in days," she tried, pained at the look that came over his face.

He didn't say anything. Kay took a few steps closer and sat down on the very edge of the bed, near him. Every movement was slow. Like she was worried it would set him off or something. He absolutely hated it. "Cameron, you're smarter than this," Kay began, picking her words carefully. Her voice was soft but it was imposing at the same time— staying firm and not leaving too much room to fight her. Not that he could. "You know you can't go forever without eating. You know at some point something's going to give. It's already _starting_ to— you feel so sick and you fainted because you're taking in so little. It's only going to get worse if you keep on like this."

For a long moment he did nothing. Eventually, though, he turned his head towards her and forced himself to look at her, ignoring the way his stomach seemed to fall away from him just by the simple shift. He looked at the mug she was holding, and felt the need to gag just at the sight of it. She was painfully aware of this, but kept trying to persuade him regardless. "I'll help you sit up." He felt a flash of self-consciousness at the offer. "And you can go slow…just a couple bites at a time." She paused, before he saw the tiniest smile tease itself over her lips. "You know, this is what my mom used to always make for me when I was sick. Maybe I can't make it as well as her, but…it always used to make me feel better."

Cameron wasn't listening to her as much as he was looking at her. The smile on her face was tiny and barely-there…it drew his attention, though, and kept hold of it. It made him remember the way she had looked after she'd first kissed him, and he hadn't pulled away. How brilliant her smile had been, and how ecstatic the simple action of staying close to her had made her. He felt like something was pressing down on his chest, and making it hard to breathe. He tried to get it out of his head. He tried to get _her_ out of his head entirely. His voice was a little too loud and a little too strained when he just asked: "What's happening with Jonathan?"

Which was almost something he didn't want the answer to. But it was the first alternative he could grab.

Kay blinked, and the smile fell away. Cameron was guilty at how much relief he felt because of it. She looked from him to the mug, looking torn. It only took her a couple of seconds, though, to spin it right back around on him. Which he should have seen coming, after how many times he'd seen her flip the tables on countless suspects. "I'll tell you when you eat," she proposed, and met his disgruntled look with an expectant one. At first he was debating just giving up and telling her to leave. But something told him that she would try and fight, and if that happened, he knew this feeling would just get worse.

He didn't want to eat. Anything. At all.

But he was also so tired of fighting.

He closed his eyes and started the effort to sit up. At once, Kay set the mug down on the bedside table and moved to help him. And he _did_ need the help. His sides weren't thanking him at all for the change in position, and his head started spinning the very second it was lifted off the pillow. He couldn't really use his fractured hand to help push himself up, and when he did, a strained whimper died in the back of his throat. Kay shifted and made up for everything he couldn't do, easing him up and back so that he could sit against the headboard. He was short of breath just from that, feeling cold and hot at the same time as he sagged against the head of the bed and tried to get the room to stop spinning. Kay was watching him anxiously, severely worried at how bad he'd gotten. But she seemed to bite back on whatever she was going to say, and she just brought the soup back instead.

She took off the container lid that was keeping it warm, and stuck in the spoon she'd brought in from the kitchen. Some part of Cameron kept stubborn and wanted to grab the bowl from her. But with one fractured hand, he couldn't hold the bowl and the spoon at the same time. This registered when he looked down at it, and his face fell. The thought of not even being able to feed himself was mortifying.

Kay was studying him and didn't miss the reaction. She looked down at it as well, and wilted, trying to think. After a second, she moved so she could sit closer to him— so there were only a few inches between them. She moved to just hold the mug, leaving the spoon for him to manipulate. He blinked as she did, a little stiff at the proximity at first. But then he relaxed and shot her a look that was almost a silent means of thanks. And, reluctantly, he took hold of the spoon and took his first bite. It wasn't even a spoonful— it was probably just half of one, if that. But it was something, so Kay was washed with relief. He grimaced and practically choked down the liquid. The pained look on his face stayed a heartbeat or two as he looked at the bowl like it was filled with raw sewage. She was almost prepared for him to give up after just that, but she was surprised when he forced himself to scoop up another bite.

Dina really hadn't been lying, then. It w _as_ an issue. Kay hadn't been sure, but seeing it now, she could see how difficult it was for him to just eat. Every single swallow was a choke, and he always had to stop afterwards and stare for a few moments, like he was fighting to ensure it stayed down. Four bites passed – which took a much longer time than one would expect – before he looked at her and she realized she had to hold up her end of the bargain now. She cleared her throat and waited for him to spoon out a fifth bite before she started.

"Deakins is handling it all," she began carefully. "And Mike is telling me what happens as it goes…"

"They're not letting you be involved?" Cameron rasped, looking up with a frown.

It was her turn to avert her eyes now. She coughed in the back of her throat. "I…can't be," she replied, her voice tight. "I…practically asked. It wouldn't be…I was too attached. To the whole thing. It wouldn't have been smart." Cameron blinked at this, his face falling. He stared at her for what felt like a very long time, before he just turned his attention back to eating. He took another bite, but this time it was hard to tell whether or not his cringe was because of the soup or because of what the implication was.

She went on before she could figure it out. "Deakins brought the evidence forward. It's…well, you know. It's enough— it proves that the woman was already dead when the car hit. That MW was the one pulling the strings, and she was fine. Jonathan didn't harm a single person in the crash. He can't be charged with a murder that never happened." She looked at his face to see his reaction, but there was nothing to see. He was just staring down at the mug hollowly. His face was blank. She wondered what he was thinking, but she knew she didn't have a right to ask.

She just kept going, with increasing difficulty. "The next step is…deciding what to do about…the rest of it." He looked at her with this, and there was no mistaking the alarm that flared across his face. She shook her head. "He escaped from prison. Typically that adds time _onto_ your sentence. And it's even worse because…he stuck _you_ there instead. Right now I think Deakins is just trying to bargain for the fact that the time he spent already should count for that. A…transfer of time. She— well, she assumed that that would be what you'd want. Jonathan getting out as soon as possible." Cameron still said nothing. She pressed a little unwillingly: "Do you…not want that anymore? Do you want to press charges?"

He still said nothing.

"Nobody would blame you if you did, Cameron."

He still didn't move. He was staring dully down at the food, holding the spoon mid-stir. It felt like years before he snapped out of it. Before he blinked fast and way too many times, shaking his head as if trying to clear it but regretting it when it caused his headache to scream. "N-No," he said in a rush. He readjusted his hold on the spoon and went back to getting out another bite. "No, I don't. Good. It's. No— it's good. This is good. Fine. I'm happy. This is what I wanted." Kay watched him closely, each of his words seeming too separate and tense to be truthful. He lifted the spoon up but didn't actually eat it. He just looked at it, like he wasn't sure what to do with it. "This is what I wanted," he repeated softly, and somehow she had to wonder if he was talking to her, or to himself. "This is good."

She said nothing. She just gave a tiny nod.

Cameron stayed stuck like that for quite some time. She wasn't about to interrupt him. Eventually, he slowly eased back into motion and took another bite. This one came with much more trouble. For all his reaction, it went down like nails. It hurt her just to watch. But she still kept silent. Cameron said nothing, either. So it passed like that, in complete silence, Kay just keeping track of how much he actually got himself to eat. It never got easier. In fact, the longer he ate, the slower it went, and the more he flinched. He couldn't get the entire thing down. He ate until three quarters of it was gone, before he put the spoon down. His expression was sick and his voice was thick when he whispered: "I can't eat any more."

"That's okay," she reassured, just thankful he got down this much. If he _kept_ it down, then next time he could be pushed to eat a little bit more. They couldn't jump right back into it when he'd gone without food for so long. It would be slow, but they would get there. They would get him healthier again. "Do you feel better at least? Less dizzy?" He didn't answer her, and she guessed that was an answer in it of itself. She bit down on her lower lip and nodded. Suddenly the air between them was too thick. Suddenly their proximity was too apparent. "Well, if you…need anything, I think I'm staying here tonight. To be with Dina." She didn't think she needed that last part, but it came out anyway for some reason. "We might…watch a movie later. With popcorn, if you wanted…?"

Cameron wasn't looking at her. He seemed pained, and the question died before it could finish entirely. Her shoulders slouched. She started to draw away. "Okay." The word was hollow. She stood up from the bed and righted the distance between them. Cameron's face fell even more. She started for the door, figuring she'd done all she could, when she stopped, remembering at the last minute. "Oh. Cameron." She turned back, and was relieved he roused at this, at least. Or maybe she wasn't. Her stomach clenched a little when she started to broach: "There is…one thing. I…promised to ask."

He just blinked, staring at her.

"Jonathan…he's really worried about you." His eyes flashed at this. She was hurt to recognize that they flashed with surprise. "He wants to see you. Apparently…he won't stop asking about you. I told him that…you were too sick to go down and see him. And he can't come to you, of course. But he…" She sighed, shaking her head. "He won't stop asking if he can talk to you. If he can call you, I mean." Still, Cameron was mute. The dead space was just an invitation for her to go on. "You don't have to, Cameron. At all. Everyone would understand if you didn't want to. I tried to tell him no several times. Eventually…well, he wouldn't stop until I told him I would offer it to you. To give you the number you can call."

Call him…Cameron already _had c_ alled him. _Multiple_ times. He never answered, then.

What did he _want_ from him?

"You can say no," Kay reassured. "I just told him I would ask, I didn't tell him anything more. In fact, I told him that he would be lucky if you agreed to it. You have every right to refuse it. This can be where it ends." It would be better if he said no. But if she never asked and just s _aid_ he refused, and if it somehow got back to him that she'd lied on his behalf… "It's up to you, Cameron. Everything is."

Cameron only blinked again. He didn't say anything.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Each ring tightened the noose around his neck. It seemed to echo in the room, which was now empty. Cameron's grip on Kay's phone was a death one, but his hand shook, betraying the supposed determination. He was still sitting up in bed. Kay had left ten minutes ago to give him privacy, and it had taken him that long to draw up enough courage to type in the numbers he'd been given. Every time before, when he'd been met with the voicemail, he was crushed. He could feel his chest yawn and ache with pain. He'd barely been able to stomach just listening to the words.

Now he was suddenly praying to be met with a recorded message.

But the universe was doing everything it could to make sure the opposite of what he wanted constantly happened. And it was doing a bang-up job. Because it was picked up. And it must have been established that this call was…well, what it was. Because the voice that met him was already Jonathan's. And he already knew who was on the other end of the line. "Cameron?" He sounded like he was a wreck. Which was saying something, because Jonathan never lost his cool. For some reason, he always prided himself on never being caught off-guard, or emotional. Something Cameron was never really interested in following suit with. But apparently even he wasn't interested, right about now. His voice was frayed and weak, and Cameron didn't like the ring in his voice when he said his name. But again, it came. "Cameron, are you there?" He said nothing, staring down at the blankets. His eyes began to burn. _"Cam!?"_

"Hey," he mumbled. It was all he got out.

But it was enough. "Cameron." His name was carried out in a relieved exhale. One that shook on its way out, in its unsteadiness. "You're…you're there— you actually called, I…"

A horrible kind of silence existed for way too long. The kind of silence when you weren't sure what to say, but you knew that there was about five million things you _did_ need to get out. It was oppressive, and Cameron felt it like a brick on his lungs. He wasn't blinking, in the hopes it would help the water in his eyes reabsorb. He didn't want to talk because he was scared his voice would betray that. It was already so messed up, he didn't want it to be even worse. But eventually he mumbled: "I've called you before." Which probably wasn't the _best_ response he could have given? But it was certainly _a_ response, and it was certainly _his_ , now.

He heard Jonathan give a heavier exhale. He sounded high-strung, and almost frantic. Cameron wondered what he looked like. He wondered where he was. Whose phone this was. Was it Deakins, and Kay had just texted her to hand it to Jonathan? Was he in the interrogation room still, or was he somewhere else? He wasn't at Rockland, was he? No. Kay promised him. Cameron closed his eyes tightly to try and banish the thought away, which was a mistake, because he felt the first tear trace its way down his cheek. He reached up and wiped it with his wrist, unable to use his hand. "Yeah, I— I know you did, Cam," Jonathan replied after a second. "I listened to every voicemail, I…"

 _No, I don't want to talk to you._

Cameron swallowed hard. He couldn't have said anything even if he wanted to. And he didn't.

Jonathan went on. His voice sounded different, too. Was he crying? "Cameron, I can't…even _begin_ to tell you how sorry I am." He closed his eyes and took the phone away from his ear just a little bit. Not enough to not be able to hear the words anymore. But enough so that they might hurt less when he _did_ hear them. "I wasn't thinking, Cameron, I wasn't. When I— when I did that, I was playing into her hands. I was doing _exactly_ what she wanted me to do, when I thought I was doing the opposite, I…" He took in another fast breath. "I wasn't thinking clearly, I wasn't…

" _We?"_

"And you don't have to forgive me, Cam," Jonathan went on, softer now. "I did something…completely horrible, to someone I should have known only had my best interests at heart. And someone I should have…understood I had more of a duty to." Cameron's lips were shaking. He cringed and this time he didn't bother wiping the tear away when it fell. He figured more would just replace it. "There's no excuse for what I did. There were so many other things I should have done, and _any one of them_ would have been better than what— than what actually happened, it's…

 _I don't believe you._

"She just…got into my head, she was feeding me everything I— everything I _thought_ I wanted to hear, and she was just doing it to get _this_ to happen. And I feel so stupid for letting her get to me like I did. For forgetting _you_ , I just…" He sighed again. He was rambling. Jonathan never rambled— it was always Cameron that rambled. "She was telling me so many things that— when I got your first voicemail, and I listened to it, I stepped back, I saw that— some of it didn't make sense, none of the pieces lined up, I was just— and the fact that she—

 _The answer's no._

"I just wish I could take it all back," he croaked eventually. The words seemed hollow. Like they could hit the floor and their thud would echo. Cameron was trying to remember how to breathe right. "I just wish I could take it all back, Cameron, I should have known what I was doing was wrong. I shouldn't have done that to you— I shouldn't have left you there, I— and the thing with Kay, that was wrong of me too. The entire thing. I shouldn't have done any of it. If I could go back and change it I would."

 _I don't want to escape with_ you.

Cameron's reply was a whisper. "…I wish I could too."

He wished he could take it all back. Everything. He wasn't sure what all that included.

There was a heavier silence, with this agreement. Jonathan was quieter when he spoke again. "I'm so sorry, Cam," he rasped. Cameron winced again, like he was causing him physical pain. "I'm _so_ sorry. And you— you don't have to forgive me. You don't. I just— I just want to know you're okay." Cameron opened his eyes at the change in his voice when he said this. His heart froze, his stomach dropped, his vision blurred entirely. "I just want to know you're okay," Jonathan repeated, only making it worse.

Cameron was dead silent with this. It took a while for it to sink in. His eyes flickered to the door. His mouth went dry. He felt sick. When he spoke, after quite some time, his voice was barely anything at all. It hardly got out of his throat in the first place, and even when it did, it was thin and hollow, like it was fit to crumble on itself. "Did she tell you?" he practically whispered. He hardly heard _himself._ It would be a miracle if Jonathan managed it.

At first he was sure he hadn't. There was silence on the other line. He couldn't even hear him breathe. And it stretched for so long, Cameron started to open his mouth to repeat the question, even though it had tasted bitter forcing it out the first time. When Jonathan suddenly spoke up and cut him off. His voice was completely blank. Almost as soft as his, though. "Tell me what?"

 _Take the out,_ some part of him pleaded.

The other part…was unfortunately a little more prominent. As it usually was.

 _He knows he knows he knows she told him he knows she told him she he knows she told he knows—_

"Kay told you," he breathed. Not a question this time, but a statement.

Another pause. This one was shorter. "I don't…Cam, I don't know what you're talking about. Kay…she didn't tell me anything. Except that you…got hurt."

His face fell. He kept staring at the door, confused and unsure. He tore his gaze away just to stare down at his lap. He couldn't tell if it was a lie. If it was, did he _want_ to know? _Would s_ he tell him? No. Of course not. Or maybe… "Okay." The singular word was small and almost defeated, as he just took the words at face value. For now. He was tired. Why did he keep coming back to that? He was tired…of fighting, of objecting, of e _verything._ He was just tired. "I just meant…that…" He was clever anymore. Couldn't find a way to talk around this, or shrug up some excuse on why he'd snapped. Eventually he just gave up and just repeated dully: "Okay."

Again, that silence. He felt like he should say something but he couldn't manage it. He could hardly breathe.

"Cam…" He closed his eyes at the nickname. Which was stupid, because he couldn't see Jonathan as it _was_ , so why was he hiding from him? But just like everything else that was stupid, he couldn't change it. Jonathan sounded even more strained now, if such a thing was even possible. "Cam, I just wanted to…" He took in a shaky sigh that came out just as unsteadily. He was definitely crying, or at least starting to, when he managed: "I don't hate you, Cameron."

It took a second to realize what he was addressing. That message seemed to have taken place years and years ago— a lifetime ago. He'd forgotten what he'd even said. But once he did, Cameron began to crumble, that deep-seated cringe crawling back over his face. "I've never hated you, Cameron. Never. Not once. All my life…you've been there for me, and I've been there for you, and that's the way it should have stayed. You pressured me to keep performing, but Cameron, I could have put my foot down more, it was my fault too. It wasn't all on you, and it was wrong of me to blame you for that, and it was wrong of me to…just do this whole fucking thing." The last phrase was exhaled in frustration and growing sorrow.

Cameron was crying. Silently, but violently. His shoulders shook and his head ducked down low. His throat was on fire as he held back his sobs, but it wasn't like it didn't always hurt anyway. It wasn't like he wasn't always crying. "I'm _so_ sorry, Cameron," Jonathan repeated, a broken record. "And I'm sorry I made you think that, and it was just wrong of me to even give you the tiniest idea that I didn't…that I don't love you." Cameron's palm was going to be imprinted with the phone's edges, he was holding onto it so tight. At the sentiment, he only held tighter, somehow. His shoulders only heaved more. He couldn't say anything. The silence must have been making Jonathan even worse. His voice was weaker when he pressed: "I _do_ love you. Cam. I love you _so_ much."

Cameron was biting down hard on the inside of his lip. It wasn't long at all before he could taste blood. He tried to get his air back. To get himself composed somehow. This time, Jonathan gave him however long it would take. And it certainly took a long time. Before Cameron could even breathe in the proper way that would allow himself to speak. His voice was in pathetic pieces when it managed to worm its way out. He couldn't even offer anything good back. "Okay," he choked.

Jonathan said nothing at first. His voice was even more tearful when it came back. "I'm glad you're okay, Cam," he tried. Cameron said nothing. "I'm sorry I…" Silence. Then: "I'm just sorry." This barely got out— it broke at the end, into something akin to a sob.

It was all he could give. Those five letters.

What did they amount to? What did they take away? What did they _do_?

The answer was always the same: Nothing.

Cameron squeezed his eyes shut, finding his breath hitching. His hands were beginning to shake. The taste of blood in his mouth was getting worse, or maybe he was just focusing on it too much, but all he knew was that he needed this to stop. He'd already gotten worked up once in front of Jonathan, he didn't want to do it over again. And he would. His thoughts were getting away from him, his heart was picking up too much. The whole _thing_ was too much. "I have to go," he managed tearfully. "I can't— Dina needs me." A horrible lie, and a horribly-executed one. It was pretty transparent.

Jonathan didn't call him out on it. Maybe he just figured he owed him that much. "Yeah. Yeah, okay." Though he rushed to tack on before Cameron could hang up: "Thank you. Cameron. For calling me, I know I don't…I know I don't deserve it. I just…I'm worried about you. I want…to make sure you're okay. I want to try and…make this right, and I know I can't, but I just…" He trailed off. Either not sure how to finish, or just not wanting to.

Cameron could only get the same thing out. Short, and clenched in pain. "Okay."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She checked on him a few hours later. She knocked on his door, like she always did, and started in right after, like she always did. Another routine that she was somehow accustomed to after all this time. Kay saw that he was still sitting up in bed, and she opened her mouth to call out a small greeting. When she stopped, her face falling. Cameron's head was ducked down low, and he was holding his injured hand up close to his chest. His breathing was punctured and escalated— she could hear it from where she stood. At first, she thought it was hurting him. Until she realized the inverse was true.

 _He w_ as hurting _it._

He was holding it in his good hand, tightening his hold every so often to dig his nails down into the injured skin and flinching away from the agony it created. Immediately she forgot herself. She rushed in, her eyes wide as she turned on the light. "Cameron!?" He cringed away from the sudden brightness, looking irritated, not surprised. The same couldn't be said for her, as she stuttered to a bit of a stop. "You're— awake?" He looked at her oddly at the question, just seeming confused. She shook her head, looking down and starting to reach down for his fingers, to peel them away from his fractured hand. "If you're awake, why— you're hurting yourself, Cameron, you can't—"

"Stop. _Stop!"_ he snapped, yanking his arms back and tucking them up to his chest when she tried pulling on them. His eyes were raw with the pain that was still lingering there, but he also eyed her crossly, like she was the issue and not him. "I'm _fine_." Her eyes narrowed, but he ignored her. He looked down and, trying to focus on anything else, he messed with his blankets to straighten them out. "I was just keeping myself up," he grumbled.

Her confusion melted. As did her defensiveness. "Keeping yourself up?" she echoed. He didn't react, but she knew she'd heard him right the first time. She watched him fuss with his covers, and her face began to become crestfallen. "So you don't sleep?" Again, he was silent. His lips pressed a little tighter together. She hesitated and continued to watch him fix something that wasn't out of order. Her eyes flickered to the phone that was now on the bedside table. "How did…your talk with Jonathan go?" she asked. Had something happened? Something that upset him enough to—?

It was like he could read her thoughts. "It doesn't matter. It's not important."

She wasn't so sure. She looked at him carefully, frowning. "What did he say?"

"I don't want to talk about it!" Cameron snapped. "Can I say that? Or are you going to bug me about _this_ , too? Do I have to tell everyone _everything_ now just because you all think so?"

Kay said nothing. Her eyes flickered down to his injured hand, and she saw he was forcing his fingers to flex more than they could withstand. His expression was twisted in pain. He'd given up on trying to make it seem like he was doing something with his bed. Now he was just staring straight ahead. She looked at how red his eyes were. How dark the bags under them had gotten. How pale he was. Her words were gentle. "Cameron…you shouldn't keep yourself up. And you shouldn't hurt yourself just to try. You ate a little bit just now, why don't you try to sleep a little bit? It can only be a couple of hours, it doesn't have to be long."

"It never _takes_ long," Cameron was mumbling, before she could even finish. She stopped short at this. His eyes flickered to her briefly. But in that moment, his anger was gone and it was replaced instead with a fear similar to the type that had been in eyes when he'd woken up from his nightmare that night on the couch. He looked scared, and overwhelmed. Already. It the attempt to avoid the full-on episode. Kay wilted noticeably, and he looked away with a tiny shake of the head. "I don't want to sleep," he murmured. "I can't."

"Cameron…you can't stay awake forever," she argued, though it pained her to do so. He grimaced. "You _need_ to sleep. When was the last time you really did?" Since she was over? That long ago? Cameron wasn't going to give her an answer, so she guessed it had to at least be something like that. "You have to sleep," she continued to object, and he flexed his fingers again. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. You'll only get worse."

"I don't _want_ to," he insisted. His voice was thinner already. Already giving out. Kay's chest ached in pain. "I don't want to sleep!" His voice cracked, too hoarse to stay steady. "I don't want to sleep, I don't want to eat, I don't want to get up, I don't want to talk to anyone, I don't want to _do anything!_ I want to be left _alone!"_ Kay steadied herself as she saw tears spring into Cameron's eyes. As she heard his breathing grow more haywire and uncontrolled. "I want to be _alone_ , I want everyone to stop _bothering me_ and looking at me like I'm— like I'm—!" He broke off, his breathing hitched and escalated. He was staring straight ahead with wide eyes. They were vacant, and faraway. Like he was seeing something she couldn't.

Silence existed for quite some time. Before Kay asked gently: "Do you _really_ want to be alone, Cameron?"

The question was simple, but it dragged Cameron back immediately. He jerked his head a little bit, as if in shock. When he turned to look at her, his eyes were filled with tears and one marked its way down the side of his face. He made no move to brush it away. He just looked at her like he was just now noticing she'd come in. She said nothing. She only looked at him earnestly, with nothing but kind concern. His lower lip trembled. Something in the back of his expression broke as he searched her face. His shoulders curled inward, as if he was in pain. It took a long time, but eventually it came.

"No," he choked, all the anger let out of his voice like it was a balloon that had been popped. What was left in its stead was heartbreaking defeat and loneliness— fear that she had never seen or heard from him until this entire thing had started. It was so deep it cut her to the bone to hear. It was all she could do to keep her expression from breaking right along with his. He closed his eyes and held his head in his hands. "No, I don't," he cried.

The give-in had been what she expected, but she wasn't sure what to do with it now that she got it. For a heartbeat, she could only stare at her friend, so beaten down and desolate underneath the weight of everything he had to carry. He was refusing to sleep because he didn't want to have any more nightmares. He didn't want to have to relive any of that hell, but every time he closed his eyes, it was there waiting for him. She didn't want him to, either. She wanted him to have relief. She didn't want him to wake up screaming or hurting himself or someone else. She wanted so many things for him, but this was just one on the list.

There wasn't much she could do to try and ensure all of that.

So the one offer she _could_ make was spilling out of her mouth before she could double-check it. "I can stay with you." Cameron had been trying to pull himself together, so he looked at her with a little bit of surprise when she announced this. There was nothing on his face but confusion. Kay shook her head. "I can stay with you," she repeated, realizing what it must sound like. She rushed to fix it, and elaborate further. "I can sit with you— if you start to have a nightmare, I can wake you up." He blinked, the confusion staying put like it was glued. "You might…not get _a lot_ of sleep, but you'll get a little bit of it. I can make sure you're okay." There was a slightly awkward silence between them, and once again Kay didn't make it any better by tacking on: "Or I can…get Dina. If you'd…rather…"

He got over the initial hurdle. He shook his head. "It's— no, you don't— have to…no. You shouldn't have to sit here and…no. I'll be fine. It's fine."

Kay weakened as he turned away again. To go back to pretending he was doing something with the covers. She knew that it wasn't her place to push. That especially after the mess-up she'd had, she was the last person that needed to be pestering him. Some part of her told her to get Dina instead, and keep herself out of it. It was clear that Cameron wanted nothing to do with her at the moment— she couldn't force herself on him. Not ever, but especially not now. So she almost turned around and gave up. But at the same time, she knew if she did, he would go right back to hurting himself. He would go right back to trying to stay awake despite the fact that his body was clearly ten seconds away from shutting down by itself.

He would go right back to suffering.

And when it came down to it, he was her friend. And she hated to see him suffer when she knew she could do something.

So she pleaded again. "I want to help you."

He stiffened oddly, his eyes flashing. He blinked and looked at her, once more in that strange way.

She just tried again. "Let me help you."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She'd laid out a couple blankets on the ground by Cameron's bed. A couple pillows too, and that was all she needed. It wasn't like she was going to sleep, anyway. She'd told Dina she was moving from the couch to the floor of Cameron's room to wake him up if he needed it. It was a miracle she'd finally managed to bring an end to the hug that had followed, as well as the stream of gratitude— the scene had ended up lasting nearly a full two minutes. Now, from here, it was just finally giving Cameron the security he needed to feel safe enough to go to sleep.

And, of course, it had been instantaneous. Once he managed the transition back to laying down, he was practically asleep the second his head hit the pillow. Days of going without it, and Kay actually heaved a sigh of relief when she heard his breathing deepen not a minute later. She wasn't sure how long he was going to stay asleep, but she hoped that at least some of the bruise-like bags under his eyes would go away. Some more light might return to his eyes. Or he would just have some more life to him in general. It was all baby steps they were taking, but the important part was that they were taking them in the first place.

She sat with her back to the wall and her legs crossed. She played on her phone to keep herself up and every so often she glanced over to Cameron and made sure he was still sleeping peacefully. That there wasn't the tiniest thing wrong. And he slept for a long time with no interruptions. Her phone battery drained nearly all the way in the meantime— she had to plug it in. She was halfway through her twentieth game of Sudoku when she heard him start mumbling. She tore her gaze from her phone and looked up, her eyes going to the clock to see it was just rounding midnight.

She got up on her knees and crouched so she could see him. Sure enough, the peaceful look on his face was gone. Instead, it was slowly being replaced with a grimace that was only growing more apparent. His forehead was creased and his eyes were closing tighter. She couldn't make out what he was mumbling, but she reached out anyway, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder and shaking him just a little bit. "Cameron," she whispered. He didn't react, and she shook him harder. "Cameron, wake up!"

She raised her voice only a fraction, but it was enough. His eyes snapped open, bleary and groggy. He jerked a little bit, with a tiny gasp, and she took her hand away. "It's okay," she soothed, and he looked at her, blinking fast a couple of times. He still looked half-asleep. Kay offered him a smile. "You're okay. Go back to sleep," she encouraged. He looked like he was planning on saying something. He started to open his mouth, like something was going to come out, but his eyes were already closing again. Kay watched as his eyes grew too heavy to stay open, and he relaxed all over again, falling back asleep seamlessly. She waited, a little tense, in case he was dropped right back into his nightmare. But that peaceful look was back, and it stayed.

She went back down to sit on the floor.

That was how the night passed. She would sit and she would listen, and whenever there was something out of the ordinary, she would get up and check him. At 12:47, he started to hyperventilate. At 1:30, he started to thrash from side to side. At 2:50, he started crying. At 4:25, his arms had started to move up to his neck again. Every time something like this happened, Kay would snap up and rush to the bed, waking him up as quickly but as gently as she could. Every time, he would wake up disoriented and half-aware, and would only calm down after she reassured him multiple times that he was alright and that it was all just a dream. He'd fall asleep easily, at least. She guessed he was so tired it was almost impossible for him not to.

She was relieved for that, at least. She'd just hoped he would be so tired he wouldn't have nearly as many dreams as he was having now. She'd hoped it would be a dead sleep, with absolutely nothing wrong, so he could have that respite he desperately deserved. But if this was the most he could get, then she was willing to do this and stay up for him. She was making sure he was able to rest as much as possible, this way. She could take a nap during the day, if she really needed it. But it wasn't like her job hadn't trained her to have sleepless nights. She was near an expert. It wasn't much to ask of her.

It was almost six when Cameron started screaming.

She guessed she was waiting for that one, but it still scared the living daylights out of her when it came out of nowhere. The room had been completely silent, until all of a sudden it was filled with terrified screeching. She jerked and dropped her phone entirely, whirling around with wide eyes to see Cameron twisting sharply in the bed, probably doing damage to his bruised ribs. She'd looked up at him only a moment ago to see he was perfectly fine. This change had been too fast for her to stop in its tracks. She shoved herself over to him and reached out, skipping on grabbing his shoulders entirely, even though it would be more effective at keeping him still. No— she'd learned the best way by now to touch him, so she moved to hold his face in her hands as she called out his name.

"Cameron!" she yelled over him, quickly brushing her thumbs along his cheeks to try and get him to open his eyes. He kept screaming, his arms jerking awkwardly, like he was trying to push her off. She yelled louder. "Cameron! Look at me! Open your eyes— wake up!" She held him a little tighter, with more force than was needed, and his eyes did snap open. His pupils were blown out with fear, and his screaming immediately choked into a harsh gasp. She moved, forcing their eyes to meet as she kept her thumbs running comfortingly over his cheekbones. "Cameron, are you awake?" she asked, bringing her voice down to its normal volume again.

He was gasping raggedly, his eyes staying huge. He didn't say anything, but he was staring at her, and the look in his eyes made her feel like he was wide awake. Her eyebrows drew together in concern. "Cameron, it was just a bad dream," she reminded him. "It wasn't anything else. You're still home. You're safe. It's okay."

"It— he—" Cameron was breathing too hard to speak.

"Just a nightmare," she repeated. "You're alright. There's no one else here."

He kept staring like a deer in headlights. But he slowly gathering himself.

Kay let her hands linger on his face for just a few more moment before she started to pull away. However, the moment she started to withdraw, Cameron reached up with his good hand and grabbed onto her wrist, keeping it there. She froze at once, and looked back at him in something close to confusion. Her eyes went to his hand, and they flashed. She closed them, and when she spoke, her voice came out sounding almost pained. "Cameron…" She wasn't going to do this all over again. She wasn't going to upset him. _She_ couldn't let him upset _himself_.

"No, it's—" She looked back and realized with a jolt that he was crying. He stilled looked terrified, like any second, if he let go of her, he'd go right back to where she just dragged him out of. The depth of it took her breath away. It cut off any argument she had building on her tongue. Winded, she just stared at him. "I— just—" And then he repeated himself from nights before, unknowingly, because he certainly had been too wasted that night to remember a single word of what he'd said. But here he was, making the same request, this time too wrapped in fear to think twice on it. "Can you stay with me?" he whispered, every syllable shaking.

Her mouth went dry. She found that her own eyes were misting over. Stupidly, she tried: "I'm…right here, Cameron, I'm— on the floor, I'm only a couple…" Cameron's fingers wrapped tighter around her wrist. The desperation and panic in his eyes grew tenfold. She wilted. "I don't…Cameron, I don't want to upset you…" And yet rejecting him now seemed to be doing that very thing. She was torn. She didn't want to hurt him. She didn't want to reject him. She didn't want to do something he would regret later just because he was scared in this one moment.

Was she being selfish? Was she overthinking? Was there a way out?

Cameron was still crying.

She made up her mind. "Okay." The amount of relief on his face was unfathomable. She hesitated before she took her hands away from him and moved instead to shift aside the blankets. As she sat down on the bed, she moved slowly on purpose, to give him more than enough time to tell her this wasn't what he meant. She'd learned her mistake— she wasn't going to do anything else rash. But he never said anything. He was too busy trying to get his breathing back under control. Yet the relief stayed clear on his face once she settled to lay down next to him. She had to admit it was better than being on the floor. She looked at him with worry. "Are you okay?" she whispered.

Cameron's eyes were closed, but it was just in the attempt to calm down. His breathing was still a little fast, but he gave a tiny nod. "…Yeah, I'm—" He cringed and shook his head. He opened his eyes and looked at her, in a way that made it seem like he was just aware enough now to realize what he'd asked for. She was already moving to get back down on the floor the second she saw this. But his words stopped her before she could. "Thank you," he whispered. Somehow, speaking above that volume now seemed wrong. He looked miserable. Still exhausted. But there was gratitude there as well when he looked at her. "For…"

Silence swallowed whatever he was going to say. They continued to stare at each other in silence, and Kay could see anxiety crawling over Cameron's face, to further upset him. Her response came without conscious thought. "It's alright, Cameron," she reassured. "It's not…I just want to help you. That's it. It's nothing else." A little blunt a statement, but that was what this kind of situation needed. Upfront honesty, and constant reassurance. He'd said he wanted nothing from her. She'd put her feelings aside. That was the end of it all. No bitterness, no pushing, no anything. So this was absolutely nothing.

Sure enough, it did exactly what she hoped it would. Cameron nodded slowly, and his breathing began to ease even more. "Okay." Awkwardness shoved itself between them for a few long seconds, before he grimaced and asked softly: "Can…I…?" He started to reach out then seemed to think better of it and tucked his arm back to him. Kay realized what he was asking for. Again, she couldn't ignore her worried jolt, but she couldn't ignore him either. Wordlessly, she shifted so she could be on her side as well, and they could face each other.

Cameron shifted over immediately and put an arm around her. He felt her do the same, her grip noticeably very loose and light. He was stiff at first, still bordering on the edge of panic and not sure this would help. But after a few seconds, he began to relax. Whenever he was little, and he'd been panicking inside of some trap he couldn't get out of, or freaking out because he couldn't figure out a specific trick, he'd always been soothed the second Jonathan hugged him tightly. Held him hard enough to let him know that it was okay and he was rooted somewhere else. He needed that now. He needed someone to hold him and keep him here. He needed reassurance.

So when Kay wrapped her arms around him, though it took a second for him to make the right, logical, connections, his horrified gasping started to stutter into nothing. He held tighter to her and inched even closer, resting his head just below hers. He closed his eyes and sighed, the air hurting his throat on the way out after his bout of screaming. He wasn't crying anymore, or panicking. He was just exhausted again. And suddenly, with Kay holding him gently, and the smell of her perfume back, he was already starting to fall asleep again.

Kay realized this. Quietly, she asked: "Is this okay?" Wanting to be absolutely sure.

Cameron's only reply was a barely-there hum of contentment.

She wasn't sure what to do. Or feel. For now, she just rested her head down on top of his and kept watching over him in case he woke up again. Eventually, laying the way she was, her own eyes started to get heavy. She was yawning more and more and despite all her best efforts, the sound and feel of Cameron's deep breathing started to lull her. She started out just resting her eyes, but eventually she fell asleep with him, too tired to keep focused on what she was meant to do.

But that was alright. She wasn't needed.

The both of them slept until noon.

Cameron didn't wake up once.


	5. Chapter 5

Kay hadn't had too many moments in her life that were slow.

She'd worked hard from day one. And a majority of it hadn't been easy. She worked hard in school, to get perfect grades or near-perfect grades on every assignment and every test. She'd pulled all-nighters studying, or she'd woken up in the library with her face pressed down into a book. She'd been in as many extracurricular activities as she could, in the hopes to make her transcript appealing to a college— at least appealing enough to lower the cost to something achievable. She'd graduated at the top of her class. All the while struggling with the fact that she had been the one to find her sister after she'd overdosed. The one that had to tell her parents, and had to attend the funeral and see them cry. Despite all that, she still worked hard. Still didn't let up.

She attended college and worked long hours of serving to be able to afford it all. When she wasn't working, she was studying. When she wasn't doing one of those things, she was volunteering to put together pep rallies or organize a fundraiser or anything else that was happening on campus. She would go to sleep late and get up early in the morning. And when college was done, she was setting out to find a job that was relevant and applicable to the resume she was building in the hopes to one day be in the FBI. She worked hard and accomplished much and eventually put in her application. Only to be subjected to rigorous background checks and working to fit the physical fitness requirement that every potential special agent had to meet.

She was accepted, but from there it was onto training— twenty long weeks at the FBI Academy. Twenty long weeks of studying, and learning, and practicing, and firearm training, and even more, back-to-back-to-back. She slept little and worked even harder than she ever had, and she refused to let up until she was finally given the chance to swear in. Which led her to her probationary period – a two-year stretch – that left her working under the guidance of another agent for an apprentice-mentor relationship. And her work had never stopped. She met each new assignment with the same drive and determination to succeed like she had the very first one she'd been given, all that time ago. She remained a force to be reckoned with. A person that was known to work hard and refused failure because that's what she'd always done.

She'd always worked hard. From the very beginning.

So moments like these…slow, peaceful moments…she'd had so little of them.

Maybe that was why this one seemed so monumental to her.

Or maybe it was for a different reason.

She had woken up only a short while ago. She hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep in the first place; once she had, she'd felt a tiny sting of guilt. But that was quick to fade once she woke up fully and realized what was happening. It came as a surprise to her, for some reason. She wasn't sure why. Maybe she figured that at some point in the night they would have separated. Maybe she thought that he couldn't possibly have slept for this long, especially with her unable to wake him up if he needed it. She didn't know what she had expected, but it certainly hadn't been this.

Cameron was still curled into her, still holding to her. In turn, her arms were still wrapped around him, almost in a protective way. His head was resting down against her shoulder. It allowed her to inch back just a little bit so she could look at him. The very instant she did, her chest was immediately gripped with a relief so aching and present that it practically winded her. He looked completely relaxed. Serene, and peaceful, like nothing at all was wrong. His breathing was deep and even, and soft against her skin. It wasn't hitching in panic or choking down on sobs. He was just sleeping. _Finally._ After days and days of forcing himself to stay up, he was sleeping, now completely unhindered.

She wasn't sure what to do at first— whether she was supposed to take her arms back and leave him now that she was awake. Some part of her went back to her initial worry: that he really hadn't wanted this. He'd been scared, and he'd just asked for the first thing he could think of to try and help. If he woke up like this, it might upset him. It was better to be safer rather than sorry. So she steeled herself and started to let go of him and shift away.

But she couldn't. The thought was there; she was trying to get it to become actual action. It refused. She just kept staring at Cameron, and how oblivious he was to everything. Asleep, he looked ten years younger. Like his old self. She didn't want to risk ruining that. If she moved, she might wake him up. So she ended up staying put, and taking up her job once more of making sure he didn't slip into a nightmare. She kept her arms around him, and she didn't get up.

It was peaceful.

And she found herself clinging to the moment, while it was here. While there was no pain, or anger, or held-back words. While the look on Cameron's face was gentle and clear. There was no fighting, because the only sound was his soft breathing. The room was still dark, but somehow this darkness – though the same as it had always been – wasn't oppressive; it was comforting. Right now, the feeling that she had was reminiscent of when she'd come back to the Archive on a better night. A night she could tell Cameron was doing better because he was up and smiling, and the air wasn't rife with tension. That relief was back— that happiness was back. She'd missed it.

Ever since the night they'd been together, things had gone downhill, and they'd gone downhill fast. She guessed she shouldn't have expected Cameron to be able to recover perfectly…nobody ever did. There were relapses with everything. Setbacks. But maybe this was their new turning point. Maybe it could get better from here, or at least a little easier. Which was good; it was what Cameron deserved. He deserved this peace…this respite. She was so thankful she had been able to give it to him.

More than half an hour passed, though to her it didn't feel nearly as long as that. She could have stayed there all day, and still be willing to stay for longer. Mostly she just enjoyed the quiet, and the rest. But every so often, her eyes would catch on Cameron and they would get stuck there. She would look at his face, and she would find her heart twisting in pain as she studied every detail. As she tried to memorize this tranquility, because it had been so long since she had been able to see it. At one point, her eyes caught on something else.

He was laying on his right side facing her. While his left arm was looped around her, his right one had slipped at some point in the night to rest down on the mattress between them. It was turned upwards. Cameron was wearing a long-sleeved shirt— he did that a lot now, practically every day. But she could see one of the tiny threads of his stitches poking out from underneath the slightly rolled sleeve. He needed to get them removed. It was just now about two weeks since he'd gotten them. That was typically the limit on how long stitches were supposed to stay. He had just gotten so sick it had slipped their minds. Maybe she could persuade him to let her take him…it wouldn't take very long, and it wasn't like—

Her thoughts were broken when Cameron shifted just a little bit. She couldn't stop herself from stiffening when he did. He took in a breath that was deeper and a little sharper than the ones that came before. Kay grew a little tense when his eyes slowly started to pry themselves open, like they weighed a million pounds. His expression was muddled, which was to be expected, considering he'd slept for just a little bit more than eighteen hours. Even when he did worm them open, he still had to wake up all the way. It helped when he moved as if to stretch and he felt his arms pull against her.

A tiny confused noise scraped itself out of his throat. He blinked a couple times, and Kay could see him clearing away the fog that was shrouding him. Initially, he just stared blearily at his arms, like he was wondering what was wrong with them. But little by little his awareness leaked back, and eventually he looked up at her. The way his expression changed, it was as if it was a shock she was actually there. Cameron looked down at himself and then at her, having to piece together the puzzle. Already she was wilting uncertainly in the face of the awkwardness that was very quickly shoving its way back in between them, and the expression that was crawling back over his face.

She started to open her mouth, but Cameron was beating her to the punch.

"I'm— you didn't have to— I'm sorry, you—" He shook his head and started to take his arms back, already trying to scoot away from her. She bit down hard on her disappointment and let go of him, pulling back and sitting up. Cameron was starting to do the same, but it was a much bigger task for him. It took longer, and Kay's heart twisted as she saw his face crease over once again with that pain. As she saw that he had already lost the peace, and that he hadn't even been able to savor it when it was there. "You didn't have to do that, that was— that wasn't— I'm sorry." He was rambling, and stuttering over himself.

Kay was immediately trying to soothe him. "Cameron, it's fine. You didn't do anything wrong." He looked away, finally having managed the feat of sitting up. He was holding his bad hand in his good one gingerly; she wondered if after last night it was hurting even more. "I told you, Cameron, I just want to make sure you're—"

"Don't try and— it's not— no, no, I…shouldn't have done that." His words were stiff.

Kay weakened even more. "Cameron, it's _fine_ ," she pressed. "I was happy to do it, I'm just glad you finally slept a litt—"

"No, I'm sorry, you just— don't listen to me next time, I shouldn't have—"

"Cameron, it's _okay_. You asked, and I just—"

"I didn't _ask_ , I didn't give you a choice!" he burst. Kay blinked, falling silent. Her eyebrows drew a little more together. Cameron grimaced, and the brief burst of hostility fell away. Instead, he just sounded tired. Tired, and embarrassed, but most of all severely disappointed in himself. "You started to say no. I didn't listen." Her eyes rounded out in not only surprise but also pain. However, he wasn't looking at her. His head was ducked and his eyes were closed. "You wanted to say no but I was just too— that's not an excuse though, I didn't— I didn't give you a choice, you just felt like you _had to_ , I made you feel like you had to. I didn't let you say _no_." He grimaced, and looked even sicker when this passed his lips.

Silence followed the objection, because Kay wasn't sure what exactly to say in reaction. She was stunned, staring at her friend with enough sorrow to drown in. Eventually, she managed to speak. "Cameron…you can't possibly think that's what happened." He kept refusing to look at her, but his shoulders got a little tenser. "Cameron, you didn't _force_ me to do anything. Okay? At _all_. I only wanted to make sure you weren't upset— I didn't want you to be upset like this. That was the _only reason_ I hesitated. So _please_ don't be upset now." His shoulders were slowly relaxing. But that grimace was still set over his face.

"I was happy to do it, Cameron, I didn't feel like you were pressuring me at all. I was just worried for how you would feel this morning— I was worried you would regret asking in the first place. I know that I messed up before, I just didn't want to…mess up again." His eyes opened with this, though they still trained downward. All the same, she saw them flash. "I was only worried about myself. Please don't think I felt forced to do anything. You could never make me feel that way." He grimaced uncomfortably. He didn't fight her, but he still kept his stare averted. The silence that shoved itself between them was suddenly suffocating. Not at all the soothing kind that had existed in the room before now. It was grating and loud and it choked the both of them.

Kay was desperate to break it. So the words ended up practically falling out of her mouth. "All I want is for you to be happy, Cameron. I _wanted_ to help you. I w _anted_ to do that. And I would do it again, if you asked me to. Without hesitation." He studied his hand because there wasn't anything else for him to focus on. But as her next words slipped out without any rational thought, he found himself finally looking up at her. "I'd do anything to help you get better, Cameron." The sentiment was soft, but it was one hundred percent earnest. When he turned to look at her, she felt the smallest jolt of uneasiness, just because she wasn't sure if she was overstepping boundaries. But she still didn't waver. She just looked at him with complete sincerity, silently pleading with him to understand. "I don't care about anything else. At all. I'm here for you. For anything you need."

Cameron stared at her in silence, as if she'd snatched all the wind away from him. For what seemed like ages, they just held one another's stares, neither of them saying a single word. Eventually he tried to crack a smile. Yet the effort was far too weak to actually qualify. The laughter that underlaid his words was just as misguided and fragile. It made his question all the sadder. "Why?" he murmured, shaking his head only a fraction.

The word hurt to hear. But it was easily met. "Because you're my friend. And I care about you." Not a burden, or a duty. Cameron was her friend. Someone she cared for deeply. And someone she wanted to see well again. She would do anything he asked, anything it took to get his smile back on his face. Anything that would bring him back. It was clear in her voice, in every single syllable that hung between them. And it did hang. The air between them was thick with everything the both of them weren't saying. The things she was holding back from Cameron because she had promised herself she would forget her feelings indefinitely for his sake. And the things that plagued the far back of Cameron's gaze but he was biting back on in the effort to save face.

It was difficult to tell who was keeping more back.

They could have sat there for five seconds or five minutes, just holding one another's gaze and trying not to be crushed by everything that was going unsaid. Cameron slowly untensed more and more, until he was completely relaxed again and the anxiety was mostly washed from his face. A couple times something in his expression changed, like he was tempted to actually break the silence. But every time, it failed him. Kay searched his face, and looked at the bruises that were still lingering on his skin. Some were hardly visible anymore, some were taking a little while longer to fade. The cut on his lip had healed.

He had so many injuries…and he was on the mend.

Why couldn't the same be said for the injuries that they _couldn't_ see?

She wilted and frowned, when her eyes traveled up and caught on the gash that bridged his forehead. It had been much worse before, but it still caused her pain to look at now. It was healing, and soon it would probably just end up being a thin scar. Spanning a portion of his skin just below his hairline. Would he have a lot of scars from this? The one on his arm was bad enough…but to have so many marks on himself to remind him of what happened…it pained her. Without thinking, she reached up and let her fingers trace gently over the injury, barely grazing it in case it was still a source of discomfort. Her expression was troubled and hurt as she ghosted her fingers along the remnant. And once she traced from one side to the other, she still lingered on its edge.

Her eyes fell and she realized Cameron's stare had changed. He was looking at her with a mix of sorrow and something else she wasn't quite able to pin down. He didn't pull away from her. He didn't avert his eyes. In fact, his stare was completely steady as he met hers. He was hardly even blinking. Kay's chest felt tight, and the silence seemed somehow even more earsplitting. Her hand began to fall, running lightly down the side of his face as she brought it back to herself. It stuttered at his cheek, like it wanted to stay there for just a little bit longer.

Cameron turned his head just the smallest bit into her touch. So tiny a movement, she was likely to have just imagined it in the first place. And, just as slowly, he started to lean closer to her. He was so hesitant, she didn't even notice it at first. The only reason she did was because she felt her arm bend just a little bit at the elbow as he tilted her way. Her mouth ran completely dry as she realized what he was doing, and her stomach started to twist. At first she was a statue, simply watching him. Then, she started to inch closer too, millimeter by tiny millimeter. They were both looking at the other fearfully, their twin looks conjured for likely two very different reasons.

They grew closer and closer. Their noses were less than an inch from brushing.

Before Kay pulled back, taking her hand away. Cameron blinked fast a couple of times, like he was being jarred back into awareness. Her expression was pained but she hid it by looking away. Which was good, because at the same time she didn't want to see the look that was on Cameron's face. "You should get something to eat," she offered, her voice coming out weak. "I can bring you something small. If you want."

For a moment he just stared at her, crestfallen and confused. Torn. It looked like there were a million things he wanted to say. Like he was trying to get ahold of at least one. But he couldn't. He didn't say anything. But Kay took that as some kind of answer, apparently, because she shifted out from underneath the covers and started for the door. Cameron watched her go, feeling hollow. But there wasn't much he could say or do, to bring her back. She crossed the threshold and rounded the corner, and suddenly Cameron was very alone. Noticeably so.

He closed his eyes tightly and sighed. He ducked down to press his forehead into the palms of his hands. He inflicted pain in his bad one in the process. It had already been aching, but with the added pressure it was difficult not to flinch away from the sting.

He ignored it, though. It was nothing compared to the ache in his chest.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron was feeling better. Not that it was a very impressive feat at all, because literally _anything_ would be better than the way he'd been feeling lately. If he would walk farther than the kitchen and not pass out, he was technically in the zone of 'better.' But still, he _did_ feel better. Not completely okay, but his head wasn't reeling as much, and it was a lot clearer than it had been before. His stomach wasn't twisting on itself and his balance wasn't swayed from a lack of sleep. He wasn't dragging as much as before, and the focus and attention was back on his face. He couldn't eat a lot when he woke up. He ate half a sandwich before he got to feeling nauseated and he had to stop. But as minimal as the meal was, it was still _something_. His body was so starved of food that it was grateful even for these tiny amounts.

He still felt run-down, like he could sleep more. Especially after eating, his stomach wasn't sitting all the way right. But it was better. Dina was over the moon to hear how long he'd slept, and she practically beamed when she saw him actually getting something down at the table, even with the difficulty it came with. He'd offered her a smile that was a little pinched at its edges. She made up for his reluctance tenfold when she'd wrapped him up in a gentle but firm hug. It wasn't something she did very often. He was smiling just a little bit by the time she'd drawn away.

Kay was acting as though the moment they'd had before hadn't happened. Like her memory was wiped, or she had amnesia. Cameron tried to follow her lead, knowing that it was for the best. He didn't want to dwell on it either. Eventually, she'd broached the topic that had occurred to her that morning, which wasn't an easy thing to do all things considered. Along with…practically everything, really, it was an unspoken agreement that nobody speak about or point out the horrific injury on Cameron's arm. Arguably the worst of his injuries, it was far too garish and cruel to even think about let alone address. Kay herself had seen the least of it. The team had seen it only because their job had been to clean it in order to make sure it didn't get infected.

Cameron hadn't wanted to go. Resolutely, he'd claimed they could do it here at home— it couldn't be that hard, could it? But Dina had jumped to side with Kay, and before long they were all in the car going to the hospital. Cameron had been silent the entire car ride there, slouched over a little bit in the back as he stared out the window dully. And he was still silent when they parked and made their way up to the big building.

He hated hospitals. He'd always hated hospitals— they were awful. They were depressing and sterile and nobody there was _ever_ in a good mood. It was way too crowded— filled with too many people who were all fighting to be seen at the same time. Every time he'd been in the hospital was an awful memory. When he was little, he was sent there a couple of times…for broken bones thanks to a trick gone wrong, one time for a concussion after he fell. Not only did he have to stay in an uncomfortable bed, completely alone because Jonathan could never be seen with him of course…but his father had also always been furious that they'd had to put their show on hold because he had "made another mistake." Because he hadn't gotten the hang of a trick fast enough, and that was why they were there.

He'd been in the hospital with that one fall, too. He'd nearly died from that one – really _dodged a bullet_ there, so thank you for that – and that was just as good a memory. He hadn't even really been conscious for a portion of it, and he'd woken up with so many wires in him he thought he was part machine. But Dina had been crying her eyes out when he had, and Gunter had yelled at him for the next month about how stupid he was for never having any caution whatsoever. Jonathan…Jonathan had been worried sick. He'd called every single night, unable to get to his bedside like he wanted. Then Cameron was _stuck_ there for forever because he was never allowed to leave. He practically went insane in that stay.

And the _last time_ he'd been here…

He was going to be brutally honest— he couldn't really remember much at all about it.

It was all a blur. When he tried to reach back to it, he just came up with things he certainly hadn't been looking for, and were certainly irrelevant to what he was _wanting_ to remember. When it came to the hospital, he could only get blurs of colors, or indistinct voices that sounded too far away. He might have yelled something. The clearest things he could get were mostly of Kay. Of her telling him it was okay, and of her staying by his side. She'd put a hand down on his arm…he thought he remembered that. She'd…asked him something…he wasn't sure what it had been, though.

Mostly, he just remembered the fear. And the pain. How much he hurt, and how much he'd been crying…

Why was it so much easier to remember the bad stuff that happened to you?

"We could go out after this," Dina offered, her voice bright. Nobody responded, and, a little reluctantly, she kept going, just to fill the awkward silence that was left. "We could…go and get some ice cream. Or…there's this really good place that just opened, it sells the best cookies— they're baked so that the middle still has…a little raw dough on the inside. You'd really like it." She looked at Cameron with this, but he wasn't paying her any attention. He was staring off into space, looking distracted. The expression he wore was something bordering on the fringe of a grimace. Kay looked at him and wilted with apprehension. Dina kept trying, rambling because she didn't know what else to do. "We'd have a couple of hours before dinner, we could go shopping. It would be nice to…get out of the house…only for a little bit."

Cameron still acted like he was deaf. He kept staring.

Kay leaned a little bit to the side, trying to see what he was looking at. Her forehead creased when she turned back to him. "Cameron?" He didn't react, and she spoke again, a little bit louder. "Cameron." He roused, blinking a couple times as if he was being roused out of some kind of stupor. The curtain around the hospital bed had been drawn around them to fence them in away from everyone else, but he'd been staring off to the side, through a crack in their makeshift isolation. A janitorial cart was left unattended for the time being a little way away from them. His eyes had been snagged over to it ages ago. Ever since then, he'd been staring at the mop that was sticking out of the bucket. Hardly even blinking.

When Kay raised her voice, he jerked and started to blink fast. He seemed confused, like he wasn't exactly sure what was happening or what he'd missed. "Hm?" He still stayed staring at the cart filled with cleaning supplies, like he couldn't manage anything else. Regardless, he tried to make it seem like he was focused. "Nnnno, not…really," he offered in a tiny mumble. Kay's forehead creased. She and Dina exchanged a worried look that Cameron was oblivious to. Before either of them could ask him what he was doing, though, the curtain was pulled back even more. Cameron jumped about an inch into the air when the nurse suddenly came into their space.

She wasn't the same nurse that had first stitched him up. Kay didn't recognize her— her hair was much darker and she looked a little older. She looked at Cameron with a friendly smile. "Hello." At least now, Cameron was able to put himself back into the moment. The janitorial cart slipped his mind as he looked back front. "I understand we've got some stitches to remove? Hopefully really fast and really easy." Her gaze was expectant, and Cameron's stomach fell just a little bit as he realized what she was waiting for. He frowned and looked down, reaching over to start rolling up his right sleeve.

He hesitated, though, before he could. He stopped short, his shoulders hunching forward. He didn't move. The nurse frowned. Kay and Dina once again shared a look, and once again it was like they were looking in a mirror. They gave it a couple more seconds, but Cameron was suddenly a statue. The nurse looked up between them the very second Dina made the decision. "We'll wait," she said. Cameron blinked a couple times, still staring down at his arm. His eyebrows knitted together at the offer, but he didn't object. So Dina nodded. "We'll just…go back to the waiting room. You can meet us there once you're done."

He didn't say anything. Dina looked at Kay meaningfully before she turned and exited around the curtain. Kay hesitated for a moment, before she turned and followed. They left Cameron and the nurse alone, and the nurse offered him a tiny smile. Though it was noticeably weaker than the one she had come in with. "Four's a bit of a crowd?" she offered. Cameron closed his eyes in an uncomfortable grimace, and didn't say anything. For the time being, he was just trying to stomp down his nerves before they could get out of hand. For some reason, his chest was beginning to constrict and burn, like something was wrong. Even though he knew for a fact nothing was. The nurse saw his apprehension and moved to try and diffuse it. "You have good friends," she offered. "Not too many patients that come through here have people like that with them."

"I'm a popular person," Cameron hummed, his voice dull and bland.

It took a second, but eventually he got himself to roll his sleeve the rest of the way up to where he knew that it would expose the injury fully. He couldn't look at it, though. His eyes darted to the side as the nurse started to work. He felt the bandage he kept wrapped around it loosen and unwind. The temptation to turn and look down at it was almost too much to stand up against. His head turned just a little bit, like he was about to. But he stopped himself, and just closed his eyes, in the attempt to try and make sure he was blind to everything. He was like a stupid kid that had was trying to hide from a scary movie they'd mistakenly thought they would be able to watch.

He stayed like that. Sitting with his head turned and his eyes closed as the nurse set to removing the sutures in his arm. It stretched on for ages. Or maybe it just felt that way. The woman seemed to realize he wasn't in the mood to talk because she didn't try and worm conversation out of him. She worked in silence until eventually she withdrew and announced happily: "There you are. You're good as new." But he refused to look. He only tugged down his sleeve again, roughly and with a pained flinch. He mumbled a tiny thank-you, simply because that was what you were supposed to do. But he'd prefer the niceties to stop there. Now, he just wanted to leave.

He didn't waste much time before he started back for where he knew Kay and Dina would be waiting. Walking, he threw a glance over his shoulder to see his nurse had retreated as well, and she was currently talking to other scrub-clad workers. He was much too far to hear what she was actually saying— her eyebrows were a little raised as she spoke, though, and he could see the others' reactions to her became similar. His stomach jolted. An uncertain frown came over his face. He couldn't hear her. Despite this, the words seemed to echo in his head.

"No, you should have seen it. His arm was mutilated— it was a huge 'S.' I have no idea how in the _world_ it got there. He couldn't even look at it, though. It'll never be the same…who knows what—"

"Cameron Black!" He jerked at his own name, blinking as he looked back front. He was just coming out into the waiting room, but someone was now planted right in front of him. It was a man he'd never seen before, but was wearing an eager grin. Something that wasn't uncommon, but at the same time, Cameron really couldn't stop and muster much of anything like he used to. Not a friendly smile, or a joke, or even a tiny trick like he always used to strum up for fans that stopped him. Now, he was just trying to look for Kay or Dina behind them. But he was coming up short, and the person kept going. "Cameron Black, I'm a big fan! I saw you in Las Vegas, you were amazing!"

He tried to smile, but the effort hurt. "Oh, uh…yeah, thank you…I— I wish I could stop and talk, but I actually have to—"

He tried to step around them, but they weren't letting him. They met his sidestep with their own, and he stiffened with unease. They were oblivious. "It's so crazy to see you here…are you hurt? What happened?"

His smile grew wearier. "Uh—" His eyes darted back out again as he tried to pick out his friends. Where did they _go_? "I'm fine," he managed weakly. "It's really nothing, I just— have somewhere I need to be, so…"

"What happened?" they repeated, and Cameron looked back at them with mounting frustration. "Your voice—"

"Look, it's not that I don't appreciate—"

"Are your injuries from when Jonathan stuck you in prison?" The question caused him to do a double-take. He went rigid, his eyebrows knitting together immediately. For a second he was completely silent, just staring at them in bemusement. Their friendly smile was dropping now. They looked much more serious. When he didn't answer, the man went on. "Did you get hurt while you were there?" Cameron didn't even blink. "Can you tell me what happened?"

He tried to stutter something out, his chest starting to pull tight. "I…I don't— …are you…?"

"What are your thoughts on Jonathan now?" they pressed.

Cameron jerked, his eyes starting to narrow. His hands clenched at his sides to try and stop them from shaking. "It…I wasn't— he—"

"At your brother's trial, you were awfully vocal on his innocence. Now that the proof is here, why haven't you made a single comment? And why aren't you planning on speaking at _this_ trial? Aren't you aware it's being debated whether to release your brother or give him even more time?" Cameron's mouth was dry. They took a step closer and he wished they wouldn't. He hadn't realized that the person had been holding a phone this entire time; now he could see that it was recording the entire exchange. "Can you tell me anything about your situation? About your experience in prison? About Jonathan? About the repercussions you're currently dealing with?" Cameron tried to step around them again, but again they blocked the effort. They wouldn't let him go. Panic was beginning to burn like fire through his bloodstream. "Why haven't you been seen around New York? What are you hiding from?"

"I— just—" He couldn't fight back a cringe as they kept him trapped there. He couldn't get around them. His voice was getting thinner and more clenched. "Please leave me alone," he tried, attempting to give them a harsher glare than he probably could pull off at the moment. "You're not—"

"Why did your brother leave you in prison?"

"He didn't— I mean he _did_ , but it's not—"

"Have you spoken to him since he's come back?"

"It's not any of your— please stop—"

"Can I just get a _couple words_ from you? Everyone is waiting for you to say _something_ about this situation. Anything at all."

"No," he forced out. "I'm sorry, but I'm just not—"

He started to skirt around them, but froze the instant they reached out and grabbed onto his wrist. His eyes went wide, even though the grip was loose and mostly just meant as an attempt to try and grab onto his attention one last time. It did its job— Cameron jerked to a stop, all other thoughts blinking away in the split second. The man perked, apparently triumphant over the halt. "Can't you say anything?" they asked, and Cameron stared hollowly at the ground. "Anything at all, just to let everyone know where you stand."

"Stop," he tried. His voice was wavering and he immediately hated it. It didn't help him to calm down when he went on, only losing his footing even more. "Please stop, just— I don't want to—" They were looking at him oddly as he stumbled over himself. He tried to take in a deep breath that would steady himself. It didn't do much at all. "Can you just let me g—?" He choked on the question, and it only served to make the person even more confused. His voice was thicker when he kept trying to speak. "I don't have anything to say, I— please stop—"

"Are you o—?"

" _Hey!"_ Cameron jerked his arm back to himself the very second the other person got distracted and turned towards the voice. He curled it back to his chest and held it there with his other hand like he'd gotten burned. Dina and Kay were rushing over to him now— Dina was holding a drink from the vending machine, which must have been where they'd wandered off to. But now they were back and the both of them were equally enraged.

Though Kay's anger was a little more prominent when stalked up and practically shoved the stranger away from Cameron. The look in her eyes was fit to kill. They staggered backwards, having to catch themselves to keep from falling. Kay's scowl only sharpened. "Leave him alone!" she spat. Dina wrapped her arms around him gently, looking concerned. Cameron was grimacing, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it. "Have some respect! You're lucky if I don't arrest you for harassment! Get out of here!"

The person looked between the three of them, baffled and confused. Kay only grew angrier every second he hesitated, though, so it only lasted for a couple before he was turning and rushing away. She watched him go hotly, to make sure that he wouldn't have any second thoughts. And that there was nobody else around intent on questioning Cameron. But everyone that was looking in their direction had been doing so in concern— and now that the show was over, they were going back to focusing on the reason they'd been here in the first place.

She turned and her anger melted straight off of her by the time she was looking back at Cameron. His eyes were closed in a grimace, and he was breathing slowly, like he was trying to make sure it didn't get too far away from him. Still, every breath was shaky and uneven. His hands were trembling, though he tried to clasp them together to hide the fact. Dina was murmuring something in his ear, but he shook her off after a second, prying his eyes open again and just steeling himself. She could practically see him trying to keep all his pieces together. Before she could say anything, he spoke up. His voice was flat. "Let's go home."

Dina looked after where the person had gone, wilting. "Are you okay?" she asked. "What were they—?"

"It doesn't even matter!" he snapped, frustration making his voice much sharper than he probably meant it to be. "It doesn't _matter_ , I just want to go _home_." Kay and Dina shared a disappointed look as he started to make for the exit. It only lasted for a tiny moment, considering they had to follow him. But it was palpable all the same. This wasn't the first time that he'd left the Archive since he'd gotten home— he'd gone out to that bar with Jordan, and even though there hadn't been other people around, he'd gone out to drive with Kay. But the number of times he _had_ gone out could be counted on one hand. And he was met with things like _this_.

The thought of that number never getting much bigger was an actual threat by now.

But it wasn't like either of them had the heart to try and fight him, or try and persuade him to stay out. All they could do was follow, pained and at a loss as they just accepted his request.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

 _Hand an ordinary deck of cards to someone and ask them to pull out all the cards of one suit and put them in order. So, if they pick clubs, ask them to put it in the order of one, two, three…so on and so forth with the ace on the very top. Put the rest of the deck aside, you're not going to need it. Make a small pack of those cards and turn it over so the back of it is up. Ask the person to deal the cards out to you, one at a time, so they're in a pile. Once that's done – because you know they won't trust you – grab all the cards and fan them out so they can see them, and see that they're all still in the same order. That you haven't done anything to them._ Quite _yet. So then you take them back to you and hold it up so that the values are down and the backs are up instead. Now, you tell them—_

"What?"

Cameron didn't reply. His expression was blank as he stared off into space, not looking at anything at all. He didn't even mean to actually be saying anything out loud. But sure enough, his lips were twitching to construct the feeble words…only a couple of them actually managing to scrape their way out. "Or…dinary…cards, you…order, put them…top…rest of the— you're not…goin' to…small…deal the cards, and the…'s done, and they're in the…order, but…same order they're in the same order, still in the same order, you didn't do anything…yet…take…back— hold 'em…you hold 'em…up— down, but— you…"

"What's he _doing_?" the question was nothing but a snicker.

 _Now here's the part where you tell them all about how cheaters use the "ducking" technique to fool them and switch all the cards up while they shuffle. And about how you're not going to do that— not at all! And you show them that you deal it all so that it keeps their order— so that you're not pulling a fast one on them. This'll obviously make them more than sure that you'd never lie to them, because you're an honest guy. But just because you need to lay it on pretty thick, you're gonna go ahead and tell your spectator that you'd like to actually demonstrate_ how _ducking works. Show them and explain to them how, if you move fast enough, you can flip cards in front or behind others in the way you see fit. And show them the difference— dealing the cards into a pile normally whenever you say "Deal" and then flipping their places when you say "Duck."_

He kept whispering— his voice reduced to numbed exhales. His eyes were glassy, and half-lidded. "Here you…s…switch, but…but you don't…keep the order so they don't think so they don't…put the cards— in…flip…keep it all the…the same, it's…the same…the…" He didn't notice anyone was listening. He didn't even notice he was _talking._ In the attempt to remove himself completely, and in the face of his injuries and overwhelming agony, he didn't even notice the fact that – for the moment – everything had stopped. That all of a sudden a switch had been flipped and it had all screeched to a halt. He just kept whispering to himself. "'s…a difference a diff…you deal the…cards, you say 'Duck' you— no, you say 'Deal' first, it's not…but then you say 'Duck.' Then you…flip, you…"

"Wait…"

 _Now you really show them everything is up to them because you tell them that they're in charge of deciding whether or not you 'deal' or 'duck.' So you tell them to call it out for each card, and if they say deal you just put it down normally. If they say duck, then you're going to flip the cards like before, and let them see that this is what's happening. Keep doing this really quickly, gradually building up speed in a way that they might not even notice in the first place. So it looks like you're really mixing up all these cards, getting them way out of order— but you're not. You've got a trick up your sleeve._

"Show…'s up…t'them, show…each card 's…quick…be quick, 'nd mix…up the…deal…"

Cameron felt the hands grab him and force him up. His back hit hard against the wall, but he didn't even blink at the harsh collision. His expression was still numb and vacant. His eyes were unfocused. When he was jostled so harshly, a wave of nausea slammed into him so hard that his lips stopped twitching entirely. He had to stop and try to wait it out, and hope it wouldn't push him over the edge. He attempted to focus on the floor, or the wall opposite him. Anything that wasn't moving, so he could steady himself.

But the half-conscious effort was taken from him. His chin was grabbed roughly and his head was yanked front. He was forced to meet Decker's gaze. The instant he did, he closed his eyes, cringing back from the twisted smile that was waiting for him. He tried to move his head away; the hard grip kept him from being able to do so. But he refused to open them again. Decker was so close it was impossible _not_ to hear him, even over the ringing in his ears. "It sounds like the magician is trying to perform," he snickered, and Cameron's expression crumbled in a mix of frustration and disgust. But the reaction only grew sharper when Decker hissed: "What's wrong with the performance you're giving _right now_?"

Cameron tried once more to get away. But the effort was useless, and it just made the room spin more. He was too weak, and as it was, even the tiniest movement was only half-conscious. He was forced to give up, a tiny noise of pain dying in the back of his throat. He was almost deaf to the resounding laughter. Almost. But he still heard it, and it still caused a horrible burning type of shame to sting to life underneath his skin. The embarrassment must have been too sharp; it must have leaked onto his face more than he would have liked. Because the laughter didn't stop; it only got louder.

Cameron felt that jerk of sickness again when he heard Decker snigger, closer to him now. He still cringed away. Decker wasn't going to have it, though. "Open your eyes," he growled. Cameron didn't. Whether it was out of spite, or whether it was simply because he couldn't even figure out how to in the first place, it wasn't clear. But the reasoning behind it didn't seem to matter. The principle was the same.

"I said _open your eyes!"_ When the order came sharper, and harder, Cameron flinched blearily. His only reaction was to make a noise that was much too close to a whimper. Some part of him – the remaining scrap of awareness that was refusing to dull its way out – knew that he could probably pry his eyes open and comply. That if he pushed himself, it could be done. But he didn't want to. He didn't want to see that smile. He didn't want to see anything. He couldn't fight; he'd tried and he'd failed. This was all he had left: hiding. Like it would do any good. Like it would change anything.

But it didn't. His head was muddled to think of the repercussions he should have known would be coming. And they did. When he still couldn't manage to open his eyes, the blow came— unexpected and shocking, and out of nowhere from the sudden and overwhelming silence. Decker's fist slammed against the side of his face, scattering his brain and throwing his head to the side. Already sickened, his nausea just got ten times worse, hitting him almost as hard as Decker had.

He had so little consciousness to begin with. With the punch, Cameron's mind just went white in pain. Oddly enough, right alongside the agony was a certain degree of numbness, which only served to strip away his thoughts more. Shock was beginning to hug close, like a friend who was trying to comfort him and take away at least a little bit of the suffering. So he just went still, leaning to the side and just choking on his own breathing. When he still didn't comply, Decker punched him again. This time not holding back and raining down three in a row, not even allowing Cameron a chance to gasp in between.

He couldn't even scream; the pain was so blinding. Blood was filling his mouth; he felt it leak down his chin. He started to fall, his body beginning to sag down towards the floor. Decker grabbed him again before he could and yanked him back up. Cameron was lifeless. "Open. Your eyes." He didn't want to. But somehow, this time, he did. Not that it mattered. Between the tears and the blackness that was threatening to slam over him, he still couldn't see anything. But he did feel the pressure when it wrapped around his neck. Lesser now, because it was only one hand. But still, it squeezed, and still, Cameron gagged. His throat was already on fire. If he could breathe, he would be screeching. But he couldn't. His suffering stayed silent.

"You _still_ don't understand," Decker hissed. Cameron only continued to retch weakly. "When Itell you to do something, you _do_ it, no matter what it is." He squeezed tighter and a high-pitched whimper died in Cameron's chest. He tried to reach up and pry his hand off, but he couldn't get his fingers to work. "You were more than happy to be the FBI's bitch. Now you're _my_ bitch." He kept his hold on him for just a moment more, before he let go by throwing him back against the wall again. But again, Cameron didn't even react to the pain. He just sucked in a harsh gasp, nearly falling over, he was so dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

Decker watched him, before that sick smile started to creep its way back over his face. "You want to perform?" he hissed. "Perform."

Cameron still only panted, too focused on getting his breathing back under control. And clearing away the fog that was shrouding his head. He closed his eyes and reached up shakily to try and wipe the blood off of his face. He was bleeding too much. He was shaking, and he couldn't think right, and it was all he could do to just stay up and stare fuzzily. Any other context, for all he was swaying, and for the amount of disorientation on his face, anyone would probably just assume him to be drunk. He certainly _felt_ out of it. So he didn't react initially; he just stared down. A blank slate. He didn't even realize he was starting to fall back to the ground.

Decker grabbed him and yanked him back so he was upright once more. Cameron cringed but managed to stay there this time. "I said _perform_ ," he hissed again.

 _Scream._ Some part of Cameron was retaining awareness. Rationality. Though it was shrinking with every passing minute, being overtaken and clouded by pain and exertion and panic and fear and sorrow and everything in between…it was still here for the time being. And it rang out now, pleading with him to listen before it went away entirely. Already, it was hardly there. _Scream as loud as you can, for as long as you can, someone has to hear it._ Someone _has to come and help you if you scream. Just scream._ Please.

But he couldn't. He could hardly breathe as it was. If he screamed, he would just get strangled again. And by now his voice was too ruined— he couldn't possibly make a sound that would be loud enough to even be heard through the _door_ , much less down the hall or across the prison. As if to demonstrate the fact, he attempted to speak. His volume was something even below a whisper. It grated its way out, and pain was quick to lance up his trachea, like it was covered in scratches and his voice was pure alcohol. His eyes watered even more but by now he wasn't keeping score of how much he was crying. It didn't matter. "I…d'n't…know…" He cringed. Sagged back more against the wall. Changed tactics once again to repeat brokenly for the millionth time: "Please stop."

Decker's hand laced back around his throat, though he didn't apply any pressure yet. All the same, Cameron stiffened and whined again, which he picked up on. "Do you want to keep breathing?" he growled. Cameron tried to get up. To remember how to punch, or kick, or shove, or anything. But he couldn't. All he could do was twitch his head in the tiniest of nods. It seemed to satisfy the other. "You have ten seconds, or I make sure you won't for the next three minutes."

Cameron's expression twisted with anguish. "I d'n't know…wh't you _want_ ," he sobbed.

"We want a s _how,_ magician," he snapped. The hand pulled away, and Cameron immediately dragged his legs up to his chest, curling his arms close to himself. Just trying to get as small as possible. It felt like he was dragging a million pounds of weight. With all the blood, his right arm was an odd mixture of hot and cold as it went flush against him. His hands were wracked with tremors, both pulsating in pain. For a couple of seconds he stayed like this, his head naturally ducked low. It took the entirety of those couple of seconds for him to get together enough strength to drag his head up. And look blearily at the group, each of which were now suddenly staring at him. Expectantly.

He kept curled away. It sounded like nails scraping on a chalkboard when he croaked again: "I don't…-ow what -ou -ant..." Some of the sounds couldn't even be made. "I'm n…" _Stop it, don't you_ dare. _Don't you dare finish that sentence, how selfish can you be?_ 'It's not selfish, I'm not _being_ selfish, it was selfish of him to—' _You've come this far now and you wanna give him away? To_ them? 'Maybe they'll stop if I do! If I—' _Try not to be so stupid and actually_ think _for a second—_ you _made this mess, your name doesn't mean_ shit _. Jonathan is_ coming back, _and you're going to be there for him when he_ does _, so why give it all away when nothing will even happen because of it? You say it now, and everything is ruined. So_ shut up. 'He's not coming back, he's not coming back for me, he left me and now I'm here and now I can't get out and I'm not Jonathan and I want to get out of here I want to call Kay I want her to get me out of this and I hurt and I want out of this and I want Jonathan back and I want them to stop and—' _Shut. Up._

"I d'n'…" This one was even more broken. He flinched at another wave of nausea. He swallowed it down as best he could, cringing at the agony the simple action incited. When he opened his eyes and looked again, none of them had changed. They were still just staring at him. They all wore the same expression.

It didn't take long for it to sink in. The instant it did, he looked away, fighting to keep his face blank. Fighting not to let his panic and revulsion show blatantly. "No." His voice was thick.

" _What?"_ Decker crouched over him again. Cameron could feel the anger already radiating off of him, he didn't need to see it. " _What_ was that?" he spat.

The growing rage just made him start to crumble. He repeated himself, but reluctantly, and in more of a mewl. "…No." He tried to take in a deeper breath at his lungs started to burn. But it was a sharp gasp. Frightened and tiny. "No, 'm— please…'m—" He broke off in another splintered gasp when he felt a cold sting against his cheek. Decker applied just enough pressure for the shiv, already wet with blood, to begin to dig into the skin. Pain blossomed there, and Cameron was forced to keep his head still, or else end up turning the cut into a gash. He just flinched and gasped again.

Decker leaned in close again. "I'm only going to repeat myself _one more time_ ," he snarled. "You're going to do _whatever any_ of us say. _When w_ e say it." Cameron choked when he pushed down just a little more, slicing into his skin to accentuate his point. Tears burned down his face as his chest was gripped tight in a mix of desperation and abhorrence. "Now. I can either put that tape back on your mouth and make sure that nobody will ever be able to recognize you again…" The blade was pulled down just the tiniest bit, to cut through his cheek and deliver the message. He choked, his back pressing flush against the wall. He cried out in pain, but his voice was so damaged it didn't even amount to anything. Decker took back the knife, looking at the two-inch long cut coldly. "Or you can _start._ "

Cameron's vision was ruined by tears that were now streaming down his face. They left streaks of lighter pink behind in all the blood. His breathing was punctured and fast, but still weak, somehow. He kept his defensive curl for what felt like a long time but must have been only a handful of seconds. They all kept staring…all kept smiling. He cringed and hid his head behind his hands, as if he could shield himself from any of this. When he knew he had no choice. When he knew it was pointless. He only broke down more, when such a thing didn't even seem possible. He screwed his eyes shut. His shoulders shook, and his sobbing grew violent, but still it was mute— his throat was too ruined to function.

He kept frozen, his chest tearing in excruciating pain. In humiliation. In defeat.

Before he cringed and slowly uncurled. Gave up. Lost every scrap of fight he had left— and they had only been tiny scraps. Forced himself to move. Force himself to—

Cameron closed his eyes tightly, hanging his head down so low that his chin touched down against his chest. His shoulders curled inward, like he was cringing away in anticipation of a blow he wasn't sure would ever come. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears— he could feel the way he was shaking from head to toe. His breathing was getting more and more clenched…bordering on the edge of hysteria and hyperventilation. He was trying to get ahold of himself— to calm down and rip his thoughts back to where they belonged before it was too late.

But he couldn't. It was like when you missed a step going down the stairs, and you felt yourself start to fall. You reached out to try and grab onto the railing and stop yourself from falling any more, but he wasn't moving fast enough and so he couldn't stop it. But he would take anything. He'd do anything to stop it. So before he could think, his right hand flew out and grabbed tightly to his left. Immediately pain began to prickle back into life as the fractured bones yelped in pain. But it wasn't enough, and he clenched his teeth as tightly as he possibly could as he forced his fingers to dig down hard.

The discomfort turned to agony the moment he forced himself to increase the pressure. He locked his jaw and bit down on the inside of his cheek to try and choke back the scream that bottled itself at the back of his throat. He just breathed heavily through it, gasping and flinching as the knuckles of his right hand went white from his effort. It was blinding, and only caused the sick feeling in his stomach to multiply tenfold. But it grabbed him by the shoulders and it yanked him back to the present— to the pain that was here and now, not back then.

He kept digging in his fingers— hard enough to grind into the bones and hard enough to leave crescent marks behind in the skin. His breathing punctured and turned ragged; tears flooded hot into his eyes. He continued to press and bite down against the hurt for as long as he could. When it got to be too much, he was forced to let go. He brought his injured hand up against his chest and curled around it in agony, gasping and choking on every other inhale.

Over and over, he kept doing this. Paradoxically, his breathing beginning to slow the more pain he felt. It hurt, but at least it was hurting him _now_. He repeated it over and over and over again, despite the fact that the agony only grew worse. He did it until the pain was _all_ he could think of. Until everything else was derailed, and impossible to even grasp again. Until the sick feeling in his stomach was for the discomfort only, and until he couldn't hear any of the laughter bounce around in his head anymore. When he finally reached it, Cameron let out a shaking sigh of relief. He flinched and let go, closing his eyes tightly and choking on the pain hitting him in waves. And yet at the same time try and hang onto it for as long as he could.

"Cameron?"

He winced, but raised his head after a moment. He rubbed at his eyes when he did, in what he hoped was a barely-noticeable movement. But when he met Kay's eyes, he figured the effort was in vain. She was standing in the doorway, looking at him with something akin to hurt in her eyes. At first, she didn't talk— she just looked at him, like she knew exactly what he'd been doing, and maybe she did. But Cameron couldn't take the silence. "Yeah?" he mumbled.

A quick glance at the clock told him it was almost nine. She would be leaving soon, if she wasn't already on her way out. Maybe that was why she was here; she just stopped to say goodbye.

He tried to ignore the way the thought caused his chest to tighten significantly.

She looked at him a heartbeat more, her stare heavy. It looked like she wanted to say something…or at least, something more important than what ended up actually coming out. Because after her pause she blinked a few times and straightened, with the tiniest shake of her head. "I was just coming to…see how you were, I know…after what happened in the—"

"Can we just not talk about it?" Cameron asked.

And maybe it was the tone of voice he used when he said this. Maybe it was the look on his face, still pinched and twisted in the pain that was wrapped tight around his hand. Maybe it was the oppressing silence that swallowed everything once he did ask this. Or maybe it was just the way they were staring at each other, and everything that the both of them weren't saying. Maybe it was something else. But whatever the reason, after a brief hesitation, Kay nodded once. "Alright," she relented. Cameron was almost surprised. Neither of them said anything for a long time. They just held one another's gaze. Kay cleared her throat. " _Are_ you okay, though?"

His eyes flashed. Whatever courage he'd strummed up to be able to look at her for this long vanished, and he turned his stare back down to the blankets instead. Where it was safer. He sat with the question like he didn't speak English. Like he didn't even understand it. And in a way, he didn't. At the very least, he didn't know what his response should be. He knew what she _wanted_ to hear. He knew what he _wanted_ to say. But lately, it seemed like whatever he wanted didn't matter. That simply _because_ he wanted something, he could only get the opposite. So his reply came out heavily, and soft. Hardly there. "No." She wilted. He tried not to notice. Add it to the list of things. Right above his voice— how he was attempting to ignore the fact it was so hollow and weak. "I'm not."

He couldn't look at her, and see the expression that would be on her face. Even though he probably knew exactly what it would be. He kept his eyes down, and tried to keep them from watering again. A few seconds passed with this confession hanging in the air, before the tiniest hint of a smile teased at the corner of his lips. But as it grew in strength, it grew in bitterness. And the light in his eyes only turned sadder. His voice was flimsy when he went on, possibly just to fill the silence, possibly to actually mean something. "I'm starting to think…I never will be," he offered in an almost dismissive way. Like it didn't matter.

She didn't respond. He looked back at her and saw that face he knew would be waiting for him. How sorrowful and remorseful and _guilty_. Like she had any kind of part in all of this. When he turned to her, she searched his face, and he kept still. Trying to offer her an aloof smile but knowing for a fact it was useless. He could feel how weak it was on his face, and he could see how much it hurt her just to see. A few seconds of silence felt more like a few years. He was arming himself for some kind of lecture, or pep talk that would just end up making him feel worse. When she spoke up, and surprised him instead.

The question was reluctant, and tiny. It was barely allowed life in the first place. But it winded him, like it had been screamed at the top of her lungs. Nervousness now lingered in her gaze, right alongside her concern.

"Can I stay with you?"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was easier than either of them anticipated. Cameron had been apprehensive…worried that the only reason Kay had asked in the first place was because she figured he wouldn't and she'd just do it herself. Like it was just something that was on her list to do, and she had to check it off to avoid trouble later on. He'd felt like a hassle, and he'd braced himself for the awkwardness he was sure would come after he said yes. But it never really did. When Kay came back in, this time in pajamas, and she shifted in underneath the covers. Cameron shuffled to the other side of the bed and made room, being careful not to touch her.

There was tension at first, but surprisingly it was only brief.

It could have been because Kay purposefully didn't bring up anything directly to him, or tried to force difficult conversation. It could have been because they were both tired and weren't really thinking about anything other than resting. Or maybe it could have been because Cameron was so relieved to have someone else in the room, and someone else to stay with and root himself to. But whatever the reason, it quickly became natural. They forgot everything else – the moment on the couch, the moment from this morning, even – and they just talked, quietly, and soft, in the dark lighting of the room.

"I do _not_ believe that actually happened," Cameron laughed. He'd been mostly staring up at the ceiling, but he turned with this to look at Kay.

She softened just a little at the light that was in his eyes. But she shook her head. "It _did_!" she defended. Cameron looked back up, his tiny smile lingering on his face. "And it's why Mike and I are banned from that bowling alley. Which is _completely_ ridiculous, by the way," she tacked on, pretending to be much angrier than she actually was. It made Cameron laugh again, which made her own smile grow. "The hole in the wall was just a technicality."

"So you're saying if I go back there and look, there'll still be a hole there? I can see _evidence?"_

"Well I don't know if it's still _there_ — I'm _banned_ , I can't go _look_."

"Listen, you can say whatever you want about me, and most of it will _probably_ be pretty true, but at least I've never been _banned_ from anywhere before," Cameron pointed out.

"I find that very hard to believe."

" _Why?"_ But as soon as the question crossed his lips, Cameron made a face and he doubled back. "Okay, maybe I have, but I'll have to think on it because I must have forgotten."

Kay giggled, and Cam cracked yet another grin. Every single one was like a tiny success, to see. Though the two of them were still separated, there was less than an inch between their shoulders. But neither of them were even considering the proximity. She was just happy to see that he was so relaxed. To see him smile, and even hear him laugh— both things such rarities, nowadays. Like little treasures she was lucky to have found. She continued to look at him for a moment, watching as his smile faded more and more. Until it was gone completely, and his stare turned much soberer. The instant the grin was gone, she missed it. And the question fell quietly out of her mouth before she could stop and consider any possible repercussions. "Did you mean that?"

He blinked a few times, before he let his head fall to the side again. So he could look at her, and their eyes could meet. "Mean what?" he murmured.

"That you don't think you'll ever be okay again."

His face fell. He went silent. At first, she thought he wasn't going to answer her. She almost assured him that he didn't have to— not if it upset him. But the moment she opened her mouth he was speaking, though his words were only thin whispers. "I don't know." It sounded so hollow and hopeless. So polar opposite. "I haven't…felt okay yet…" It hurt Kay, both to hear him struggle and to also see it physically, on his face. But she kept silent, knowing that he deserved to be listened to. "And sometimes…I start to feel like maybe I can, but then…" He grimaced. "And it's _frustrating_ , because I _know_ it's not…that I'm…" He sighed. He closed his eyes for a long moment to try and collect himself. And when he opened them again, she could see they were much shinier, with unshed tears. "I haven't…felt like myself," he whispered, not looking at her anymore but not quite looking away, either. "And…I'm not sure I can ever…feel like myself again," he croaked.

It ripped her heart into two. Kay pressed her lips together against the tug in her chest. She didn't say a word— she only looked at him searchingly, like she was trying to study every little thing that made him _him_. And she knew all those pieces…how could she not, after all the time they'd spent together? She knew all his pieces, she was confident, and she was also confident that they were still there. They were all still there. _He w_ as still there. She knew it for a fact. But she also knew that he didn't see himself the way she saw him. Not anymore. She _wished_ he did. She would give anything for that to be the case. And yet…

Kay shifted just the tiniest bit closer, to close that miniscule gap that had existed between them up to now. She reached out, moving slow on purpose because now she knew better. She was allowing ample time for a refusal. For him to snap at her to get away, or to even move so that she didn't even have the chance to touch him. But he didn't do any of that. Once Cameron realized what she was doing, he moved closer as well, and he let her wrap him up in a gentle hug. He put his arms around her too, his hold much tighter than the hold she dared to put him in. She felt him rest his head against her shoulder like he had before. She did the same.

It was like second nature, how the two of them reverted back to this.

It was a long time before Kay dared to speak. "I know you're the same," she murmured. Cameron's grasp on her grew just the slightest bit tighter. "And I know you'll be okay." She sounded absolutely positive. Like she'd already seen it. But it was just because she knew that she wouldn't be able to rest until he was. Until Cameron was smiling and laughing all the time, and not just these little moments. Until he was bugging everyone with magic tricks and telling stupid jokes and sleeping through every single night because there wasn't anything keeping him from doing so. Until he was free of all of this. He would get there, and she would help him to. They all would.

Cameron sat with this reassurance, trying to take it in. Curling up close to Kay, and not able to actually see her face, made it easier to talk. He just stared straight ahead, letting his mouth move without a filter, as he concentrated more on the feeling of having someone close to him. Someone he _wanted_ to be close to, who was only there to help. Whose touch was soft and gentle. And soothing. "I can't even look at myself," he rasped. Kay's eyes flashed raw with pain, but she said nothing. "I can't…look in the mirror, I just…" There was another brief pause, before a final confession wormed its way out. "I can't even look at my arm…" She almost didn't hear it, it was so quiet. Even though she was so close.

She closed her eyes. She didn't know what to say. She knew that whatever she _could_ say wouldn't come close to helping— not right now. She knew she didn't understand a single thing he was going through, or how hard it was for him. She probably couldn't even understand a fraction of it. She held him just the tiniest bit tighter, and she moved to rub comforting circles on his upper back. It wasn't much, and she didn't even know if it would help. But Cameron didn't pull away. He only sagged into her more. She heard him sniff quietly, and her heart twisted.

A few minutes passed like this, neither of them saying anything. Kay trying her best to offer him any type of comfort she could, and Cameron trying his best to _receive_ anything he could. After a while, her eyes flashed. She took her arm back to herself and she scooted back a couple centimeters so that she could see him. She settled her head down so that they were sharing the same pillow. Cameron's eyes were still watering, and she could see a few tracks left behind by apparently silent tears. But she gave him a soft smile all the same.

"Once I was late to class," she offered. Cameron frowned, looking confused at the sudden change in topic. But he didn't interrupt her— he only watched as she moved to fold her arm back a little awkwardly. She pointed at her elbow. "I was running across campus and it had snowed the night before, so ice was still all over the sidewalk. But of course, I wasn't thinking about that at all. I ended up slipping and falling onto the concrete…I ripped my elbow open completely. Blood was everywhere. I still went to class, of course." Cameron cracked a tiny grin, and she followed suit. "You should have seen it— I walked in and tried to take my seat…I was holding my elbow, blood was dripping down my arm…and I was about to start taking notes. My professor had to yell at me to get me to go see the nurse. And even _then_ , I didn't want to." She tilted her own head so she could see, but sure enough she was pointing to the scar left behind. A darker patch of skin that was hardly visible. "You can still kind of see it."

Cameron shifted closer. She smiled and showed her hand instead. "This was from when I was seven or eight…I touched a hot pan after I was told over and over again not to."

He looked at the thin, whiteish line. A cautious smile traced over his face. " _You_ not listening to _rules_?" he mused. "I thought you were _born_ lecturing people about listening."

"Shut up." She grinned, fondness and relief alike mingling together at his teasing. She reached across herself to peel back her short sleeve and show her shoulder. " _This_ one…was from one of my first cases. The guy had a knife, and I wasn't quick enough to stop him before he could get too close." It was just a thin line. More noticeable than the others, but still fairly faint. Cameron was looking at it intently, though. "It didn't go very deep at all. It hurt…but I got him in the end. I haven't made the same mistake twice, at least."

Cameron still studied it. After a second or two, almost absently, he reached out and ran his fingers over it like she had done to the cut on his forehead. He seemed distracted as he did, like he was thinking of something else. She didn't react to his feather-light touch. She just looked at him. At how troubled he seemed, underneath the layer of apathy he was trying to upkeep. How his mouth was pulled down into a small frown, and his eyes were filled with a certain degree of pain she wasn't sure she could find the source of. Or ever even be able to wrap her head around. Her own expression turned strained the longer she studied him.

Cameron was gentle, as he moved his fingers back and forth over the mark. As if there was a risk of hurting her from an injury inflicted so long ago. He'd been studying it carefully, but his eyes eventually flickered to hers. She weakened at the heartache that was waiting for her there. A long stretch of silence passed, where they just held the other's gaze. Before something in Cameron's expression changed, and he moved to show his left arm. He rolled up his sleeve and showed his forearm, where a small white mark was stretching for about three inches.

"I think I got this one when I was two. I was probably doing something stupid…I think my dad said I was running and I fell against something in the house." Kay giggled, and he brightened a tad. But once he began to continue, his voice grew softer. "I always thought it was weird…I mean…you can barely see it, but…it was something _I_ had that Jonathan didn't. He didn't fall, with me. It was…something that was different, between the two of us." The longer he spoke, the more distracted he grew. Kay wilted, and against her better judgement, her eyes travelled away from his upper arm, down to his wrist. She looked at the bruises that were there. Refusing to go away.

He caught her staring. She looked back up a little guiltily when she realized he was watching her. She started to apologize, but he was whispering before she had the chance. "Now there's too much…" Her face fell. His eyes flickered away. There was that shame again…the horrible kind of embarrassment she hated to see on his face. The defeat in his voice went hand in hand. "I'm…just…"

"Hey…" She reached up, moving before she could stop and think about whether or not he would have wanted her to. She put a hand gently against the side of his face. He dragged his eyes back to her when she did. He was wearing a ghost of a grimace. But he didn't object to her. She softened and shook her head, running her thumb back and forth a little bit across his cheek. "You're not _just_ anything," she objected gently.

Predictably, the comfort did little for him. In fact, it only seemed to make it worse. His eyes grew shinier in the dark. His lips trembled— she could see the effort it was taking him to stay collected enough to speak clearly. Though his voice was much thicker, and noticeably so. "You don't know," he whispered. He picked up on her disbelief, because he repeated himself. A little louder— a little harder. "You _don't._ Kay. You don't know what…"

It didn't seem like he could finish. But that was fine. "I don't need to," she reassured. He seemed strained, but she was more than certain. "I don't need to know anything. I just need to know _you_."

"If you knew, you wouldn't want me." It was stated plainly, and like it didn't matter. But she could see the tears he was holding back. She could see how hard it was for him…was it hard because it was just difficult to say? Or was it hard because he wished it would be different? Was it hard because he wanted her as much as she wanted him? Was it wrong of her to even wonder that, right now? Of course it was. Cameron's voice was getting more and more choked. His throat wasn't helping keep it clear at all. "You would change your mind," he pressed.

"I wouldn't," she argued. " _Nothing_ you could say would change my mind."

Both of them were still speaking in low whispers. Not daring to inch their volume any louder.

He closed his eyes. It was just easier for him not to see her. He said nothing, but she wilted at the distress that was so evident on his face, and only growing. She allowed him the space to stop and breathe through it, but the longer the silence stretched the more pained he seemed to get. Until he took his arms away from where they were laced around her. She immediately took her own back, and he forced himself to sit up. He did so too quickly, and the room was quick to spin. Kay sat up as well, trying to steady him when she saw him sway. But he was already moving.

He turned and grabbed the sleeve of his right arm, and before she could say anything, or even really realize what he was doing, he hiked it up in one harsh yank. He didn't dare look at down at himself. He just stared at her, glaring, because it was easier to pretend it was anger burning him alive and not humiliation. Her eyes went wide. Only a fraction, but it was only because she couldn't help it. She knew the injury that was waiting, but she hadn't been able to brace herself for it enough. It ripped the wind right out of her.

She had seen it before, but that had been so long ago, by now. Cameron had always kept it covered, whether that be with gauze or with his sleeves. It hadn't changed…so it still caused her stomach to writhe with horror and sorrow. The 'S' was still there, it just wasn't saturated in blood like before. The stitches were gone, and it just left the skin underneath to glare out red. It was still so different from the rest of his arm. It hadn't yet faded to the pale white it would eventually become. It was still irritated and recovering. It made her skin crawl to see. To think about what had taken place to get that where it was now, and where it would stay forever.

Her eyes began to burn. She stared for ages before she ripped herself away to look up at Cameron instead. He was still glaring at her, refusing to even glance away, for fear of what he might see. He was crying. Silently, and she could tell that he hated himself for it. But he was. He kept his arm extended out towards her. When he spoke, his words were choked and curt. "I was—" He almost said it. The weight of it was there. It hung between them, trying to force its way out. But apparently Cameron couldn't let it. It only made his eyes shine brighter, and his voice to turn even more brittle. He had to take in a quick gasp and look away before he could continue. "What do you need me to say?" he practically spat out. Kay's face fell. He didn't see. "What do I need to tell you to get you to _understand?_ Do you _really_ need me to _say it?"_

"I already understand," she soothed, trying to make sure her voice was controlled and gentle at the same time. "Cameron, I _already_ understand, you don't need to say anything. But it doesn't matter— I told you, all I want is to help you. If you don't—"

"That's not the _point_!" he protested. She immediately shut up, letting him speak. He rushed on. "That's not the point!" he repeated, the tears rushing down his face, now. Ever since that night on the couch, too many things had gone unsaid. Now, it was spilling all at once. There was no stopping it. "You deserve someone that can— that can _eat_! You deserve someone that can sleep without waking up screaming, you deserve someone that's _normal!_ You deserve someone _better_ than me— I'm not the person you think you have feelings for! I'm not!" The more upset he got, the harder it was to speak properly. He looked back at her, and the expression on his face was enough to make her chest rip in pain. "Not anymore! I'm— …I'm _different, a_ nd you're _waiting_ for me to get back to the way I _was_ , but _what if that never happens!?_ What if you never _stop_ waiting!? What if we _both…never_ stop waiting!?"

Her first tear fell, tracing its way down her face. She didn't brush it away. "I'm not waiting for anything, Cameron," she whispered eventually. He weakened even more. "I'm… _hoping…_ but I'm not _waiting_."

"There's not a difference," he objected. "You shouldn't even be doing that— you should be _leaving_. You should have _left_ me already."

Her mind was so blank with shock, all she could get out was: "Do you… _want_ me to leave?"

Something about the question seemed to rub him the wrong way. He cringed and shook his head. "I'm dragging everyone down with me," he hissed. She started to object but he was already launching forward. "I split up the team, Dina hasn't slept in weeks, I can't even be happy that Jonathan—" He pressed his lips together tightly and had to pause for a moment before he could go on. He was even more congested once he did. "I'm ruining everything, and I don't want to ruin _you_ too. You deserve to be happy, and instead you're babysitting me because I can't do a single thing for myself anymore, and you're pretending everything is fine and making it seem like it doesn't bother you, and I don't want you to keep having to—"

"It _doesn't_ bother me, Cameron, I—"

" _It should!"_ he interrupted. She cringed. "It _should_ bother you! This _whole thing_ should bother you! It should bother you that I can't do anything anymore! It should bother you I can't go a day without throwing a fit like I'm some stupid kid! That I can't be how I used to be, that _everything_ makes me upset, now!" He inhaled sharply again, the breath hitching on its way down. He was crying harder, now. "It should bother you that you have to see this!" He raised his arm more, still unable to look at it himself. She was fighting to keep herself as composed as possible. "It should bother you that I pushed you when you kissed me!"

Kay was silent, but her lips were shaking.

Cameron's were shaking harder, though. She thought his voice was already ruined. But it was nothing compared to the way it was absolutely shattered into pieces when he said this next part. "It should bother you that I did whatever they asked me to!" Her mouth ran dry. The expression he wore now was filled with an amount of pain and suffering she wouldn't even wish on her worst enemy. "It should bother you that I _gave up!_ That I stopped fighting and just— …I just—!"

"Cameron…" Her voice was weak, and it took a while for her to actually get it back. "Cameron, it wasn't your _fault_ ," she whispered. She reached out, as if to touch him. "It wasn't your _fault_ , Cameron, you didn't—"

"It _was_!" he yelled. She jerked back immediately. Her heart broke as she watched him tense and curl away. He closed his eyes. "It _was_ my fault! The _whole thing_ was my fault! I did _everything_ wrong! If I hadn't treated Jonathan the way I did—!"

"Cameron. _Stop it_." She almost sounded angry at him, her voice was so tense.

He wasn't listening. "If I hadn't treated Jonathan the way I did, he wouldn't have left me! And if I hadn't gone to visit him that day and if I hadn't covered up the camera, he wouldn't have been able to switch us! And if I hadn't gone up to them in the first place, and if I hadn't done anything, and if I'd just taken my own _stupid advice_ —!" Kay tried to stop him again, but it was pointless. He took in a harsh gasp and kept sobbing. "And if I hadn't made Jonathan do the Las Vegas trick, none of this would have happened and everything would be fine! If I hadn't forced him to keep performing when he didn't want to—" His breathing was getting sharper, his hands were beginning to tremble.

She couldn't let him keep going. She had to stop him. "Cameron! Cameron, shhh! Shhh…" He clamped his mouth shut, hunching like he was in severe pain. And he was— she _knew_ he was. She knew he was suffering, and all she wanted was to take at least a little bit of that suffering away from him. But it seemed like for every step forward, there were two steps back. She guided his face gently so their eyes could meet, and she ached at the resignation she saw in his heartbroken gaze once they did. "Cameron…you're wrong," she murmured weakly. At least he didn't look away. "I know you're upset and I know it hurts to hear, but you _have_ to see that you're wrong. About _everything_. And if you _don't_ know it, you just have to trust that I _do_." 

Cameron said nothing. She didn't take her hands away. Along one cheek was a healing cut, scarring over. Her eyes burned as she wondered, not unlike every other injury, how it had gotten there. Who had hurt him, and hurt him so horribly. Her thumb traced it, gently and lightly. "It wasn't your fault," she murmured. "It should never have happened, Cameron, it should _never have happened to you._ You couldn't have known. It's not fair for you to blame yourself for something you couldn't prevent." He looked dangerously close to arguing. She wouldn't have it. "All those cases we had together— did you blame the victims?" He snapped his mouth closed and grimaced. Albeit painful, it was the exact response she'd been hoping for. "Did you blame the person that was murdered? Did you blame the museum, for their paintings being stolen?"

He couldn't answer. So she did it for him.

"Not once. Not _once_ …you just wanted to help them. You just wanted to _help them_ , Cameron, and now you need to help _yourself_." Her lips shook. Her eyebrows pulled together in pain. "You've helped me— you've _saved_ me…I just want to do the same for you. That's all I want. I want you to see yourself the way I see you…because I still see you. I see _you_." She smiled, as watery and flimsy as it was. "I still see the annoying magician that messes with his cards when I'm trying to get his attention. The person that still loves their team and treats them like family. The person that's always thinking of other people before he thinks of himself and doesn't even question it. I still see everything about you. Because it's still there. It's _all_ still there."

His breathing was slowing, but tears were still filling his eyes. One managed to escape and fall down the side of his face; she simply brushed it away. "So I'm not _waiting_ for anything, Cameron. I have nothing to wait _for_." She didn't know when to stop herself. If she even could— if she even had to. But, at the very least of it all, she didn't want Cameron to keep replaying this mantra in his head. Unable to accept comfort from her because the voice in the back of his mind whispered he wasn't enough. "That day I came into the Archive and I thought I talked to you…but I really talked to Jonathan…I told him that I didn't want to be just an FBI agent to him. I wanted to be something _more_. I told it to the wrong person. Now I can tell it to the _right one_ , which is what I should have done before I did anything else. Because I still mean it. I _do_. Not because I feel bad, not because I feel like I have to…and not because I'm only thinking about the past. But because I _still_ mean it, right here and right now. Because it's _you_. Because you're not a burden, you're _so much more than that_ to me."

His expression only broke more. His eyes were searching hers, like they were trying to find the loose thread that they could tug on and unravel the whole thing. They sat there like that for a while, just staring at one another. The anxiety she felt was the exact same apprehension she'd felt looking at Jonathan, waiting for this same type of response. Choking, but all too familiar. And, just like she had to do before, she was forced to keep speaking once she was met with only silence. "But it's okay," she said gently. She shook her head. "I told you, Cameron…it doesn't matter. I completely understand…I'm just trying to get you to see that nothing's changed. And that I could never think of you as anything other than the friend I want to help. And support. I don't want anything from you other than for you to be happy. I don't want you to worry about hurting me…or what I'm thinking. I don't want you to worry about anything at all. I just want you to feel okay again."

He blinked, and another tear fell. It looked as though he was having to try not to let his expression break, at this point. "It's not fair," he whispered eventually. It wasn't fair— it wasn't fair for him to do this. To snap at her to leave him alone, and call her the next night, drunk at a bar and begging for her to pick him up. To shove her off of him when she kissed him, and then expect her to hold him so he could sleep. To know that she cared for him much more than she _should_ , knowing he couldn't be enough for her, and yet continuing to do things like this. Continuing to focus on her so that he could root himself down in reality, continuing to reap comfort from her touch like he was doing right this very second, continuing to _need_ her.

He _needed_ her.

Like a plant needed water, or sunlight.

But Kay took the words to mean something else. Her eyes flashed with just the tiniest bit of hurt, and she nodded once. "I know…you're right. You're right, I'm…I'm sorry." She took her hands away. Though they'd only applied the tiniest of pressure, Cameron felt the difference immediately. Like a blanket had been ripped off of him suddenly, leaving him cold. "It's not fair for me to say it again, I just…wanted you to know I couldn't…change my mind." In looking away from him, her eyes caught once more on the wound in his arm. The carving she didn't know the source of. That she wanted to know the source of, and yet at the same time knew if she did, she would be sick. Silence pushed down on both their shoulders. Her expression went crestfallen. "Does it still hurt?"

"…No," Cameron answered. He still didn't look down at it. Kay watched as he tugged his sleeve back down, to hide it away again. Her chest ached. She wished everything else could stop hurting, too. She wished everything else was just as easy…just wait a few weeks for the pain to go away. For it to start feeling like nothing had even happened. But she knew even this wasn't that simple. That that was the reason he couldn't bring himself to look at it. Because when he did, he would remember what brought that injury in the first place, and he would feel it just as palpably as if it was still bleeding. In a way, this injury was still just as unhealed as everything else was. This was just something he could actually hide from himself.

Her eyes lingered on his arm even after he tugged his sleeve down. But eventually, she repeated her question from before. "Do you want me to leave, Cameron?" He would be well within his rights to tell her yes. She'd promised herself she wouldn't bring up her feelings again. Because he was right— it _wasn't_ fair to force this situation on him when he was already dealing with so much. He didn't need anything else right now. She wouldn't be mad, only disappointed in herself. And she was already prepared for the yes. She was already moving as if to take the covers off and shift out of the bed. She could go back to the couch, or even leave and go back home, to give him the space he'd want.

But she didn't get the answer she was bracing for. She got something horribly different.

"It doesn't matter what I want." She stiffened and turned, to see that he was still crying. That the resignation was back on her face, but now she realized just how hollow it was. He looked anguished when their eyes met. She was too caught off-guard to speak at first. So he had the chance to continue. "You _should_ leave. It doesn't matter what I want." He said it a second time, and it hurt her just as much as it did the first.

All the same, after only a couple seconds of silence, she managed to speak.

"Of course it matters," she whispered. "It matters to _me_."

His eyes flashed as even more water welled up in them.

"What do you wantme to do, Cameron?" Kay pressed.

The look on his face was difficult to meet, it seemed so tortured. Like he was being put through physical pain, and he could barely breathe through it, let alone answer her question. It took him a very long time to grasp the words he was looking for. Even when he did, he wasn't sure they were the right ones. "I want you to stay," he managed weakly. She sobered, her expression clearing with the request. His only weakened, though. "I want you to stay with me." Even though she shouldn't. Even though he knew she deserved more. Even though he was being selfish just by asking.

Kay softened; slowly she smiled. "And _I_ want to stay with _you_ ," she returned.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

From then on, it was second nature. Neither of them even had to say anything, or establish a routine. It just became one by itself. Every night, they would do just that: they would stay together. They had their agreed upon sides in the bed: Kay always took the left, closest to the door, and Cameron had the right side. But it didn't matter, because they would always end up shifting into the middle so they could wrap their arms around each other. They would talk about anything and everything – as long as they were both careful not to stray into difficult territory – until they would get too tired to. Until their voices grew muddled, and until their words grew more and more separated with tiny yawns.

Cameron would never try and fight the need to sleep like he had been. He would give into it willingly, often being the first to. Kay would feel him relax completely and sag into her, and she would feel that same relief each time. She'd follow suit and they'd both fall asleep like that: holding one another safely and securely. Sometimes Cameron would sleep through the entire night. Sometimes it wouldn't be as effective and Kay would be roused by tiny mumbles or noises of fear. She'd always wake him up immediately, soothing away the fear that would be rampant in his expression with whispered reassurances that everything was fine. Sometimes he just fell back asleep. Other times they would stay up and Kay would talk, giving something for Cameron to listen to and focus on.

The point was, that he was sleeping again. It was rocky, and it was unsure, but he was sleeping. The bags under his eyes weren't nearly as bruise-like. He wasn't as unsteady on his feet, and he didn't stare off into space or drift off into sporadic five-second naps like he had. And he was eating more. Not full meals, and never three a day, but he would eat when he was asked to and it wasn't as much of a struggle for him to. The two biggest recent problems were slowly waning…he was still quiet, still sad, still refusing to ask about Jonathan or turn on the television or speak of practically anything. But he was eating and he was sleeping, so Kay wasn't about to push her luck.

The days passed like this, and they passed slowly. Cameron made marginal progress little by little, and both Kay and Dina chalked each one up as a huge success. Gunter and Jordan were still banished, and so the place felt a little emptier than it usually did. But it was agreed upon that until this whole thing was figured out, it would be better to have space. Eventually there would be a decision made— there would be things that would have to happen and be sorted through. That could just be added onto the list of it all. In the moment at hand, they were in limbo, and limbo was where they were going to stay.

Currently, the three of them were in the kitchen. Kay had come back from work around an hour ago, though no mention at all had been made of how her day had gone. They'd just finished eating dinner, which was served at a rather late time thanks to the fact Dina timed it for when Kay got there. It wasn't anything fancy— just a stir-fry that she'd thrown together in a rush. Cameron had eaten a little over half of it before he'd been unable to get down any more. Now they were just cleaning up. Kay was telling a story about how one time in college her dormmate had made ramen noodles using only a lightbulb and a hammer, when Dina suddenly interjected.

"Oh _no_!" Kay stopped talking immediately, and Cameron looked a little alarmed as he tore his gaze from her. Dina was standing by the sink, pressing her hands into her forehead. She looked exasperated. "I forgot to get dish soap," she grumbled, disappointment replacing the surprise as she let her arms drop down to her sides. She said this like someone might say: 'I forgot to pack food for our four-month-journey into the desert.' Initially one would assume the severity between the two situations didn't exactly line up. But certainly if you heard the alarm in her voice, you would doubt such a fact just like Kay and Cameron began to.

Dina just stared at the sink in frustration that was only mounting. Kay frowned. "Dish soap?"

"Dish soap," she repeated, in a hollow exhale. "I keep forgetting to get some." Cameron said nothing, but his eyes followed hers. He wilted at the sight of all the plates and pots and pans that were piled up. It looked like a mess. His eyes flickered back to Dina, and he deflated even more as he looked at the exasperation that was on her face. He turned and swept over the rest of the place. Usually it was spotless…now, he was just realizing how messy it had gotten. It wasn't horrible, but it was noticeable. Stacks of mail thrown aside and forgotten, cups sitting out on the table, blankets still left out on the couch…cleaning had slipped everyone's mind. In the wake of all this, it'd been pushed to the back burner.

The distress on her face was telling enough, but guilt swamped him entirely when she shook her head, moving to add to the pile and put the dishes from tonight in as well. "I meant to get some when I went out for medicine, it just— I got distracted I guess. I'll go back, I'll finish this, I just need to— I just had too much to do, I could have sworn that I grabbed it though, I…" She closed her eyes for a second, taking in a slow breath. A wince started to crawl over Cameron's face. He knew this wasn't just about dishes. It was about everything. It was about everything that they'd had to do, and everything they'd had to worry about on his behalf, since he'd gotten back here.

Dina was constantly running around, trying to do anything she could to help. She was running in and out of pharmacies, buying everything from pain medication to melatonin, struggling to actually find something that would work. She was going to the store every day and stockpiling on different foods, trying to find one that he would eat. She'd put her own need for support aside and shoved Gunter and Jordan out of the house, so that their yelling would stop making things worse…ultimately forcing herself to take on even more responsibility. He knew she was keeping the world out— she was ripping up newspapers and throwing them away in the morning before he got up.

She was doing a lot. So maybe it wasn't such a stretch to assume this tiny setback didn't feel so tiny to her.

He looked over at Kay, and the guilt kept layering. She looked tired, too. The both of them looked strained and worn, and he knew he was the one responsible for that. That he put that feeling there. He looked down at the table, his face falling as Kay offered: "I can get some. You don't have to go out again."

Dina was already shaking her head, pushing herself away from the counter and heading over to where she kept her purse. "No, no, I can go, it's no trouble, I was the one who forgot in the first place."

Cameron looked up and watched as Kay started to follow after. "I can go with you," she offered, obviously having picked up on the same kind of nerves that Cameron had. "We can—" She stopped midsentence. She looked back at Cameron and jolted when their eyes met. When she realized he was already look her way. She frowned. Ducked away and turned back to Dina and continued awkwardly: "Or…I mean—"

"It's fine," Dina said quickly, looking between the two of them and noticing Cameron's reaction. "I can go by myself, I don't need anyone to—"

"You should go." The both of them looked at Cameron immediately. He blinked a couple times, before he pasted a smile on his face. It was weak, and it didn't quite reach his eyes. Not many of his smiles did anymore, really. He shook his head and shrugged a little bit. "Go. You don't have to stay here."

Kay stared at him open-mouthed. She was trying to figure out what to say, but it was escaping her.

Dina managed the feat. But only a little bit. And not very helpfully. "Cameron, she doesn't…you…"

"Go," Cameron repeated, a little louder, and a little harder. He couldn't ignore the sting of embarrassment he got when they just blanked on him and he could see their thoughts just as clearly as if they'd written him down. How they still saw him as a kid that needed someone within fifty feet of them at all times, or else they might fall down the stairs, hit their head, and die. How he knew that the worry, as stupid and pathetic as it was, wasn't unfounded.

Kay cleared her throat and gave him a grin. It was just as passable as his. "Do you want to come?"

"You two can go." The words were flat, and they were final.

Kay and Dina glanced at each other, both uncertain. But it wasn't like they could fight. Not with the uncomfortable look that was already on Cameron's face, and only growing stronger the longer this was dragged on. Kay coughed again, and eventually nodded. "Okay," she murmured. Dina's stare lingered on Cameron for a few moments more. Kay moved so that she could brush against her arm as she walked past, to encourage her not to be so obvious. "We'll just…be right back, then."

Cameron said nothing, his eyes just tracked them out. There was a sullen frown on his face.

They made for the door, and he thought they were out. Before Dina glanced back at him and asked: "Are you sure you don't want to come?"

He turned away from them entirely, ducking his head a little so he could reach up and rub at his forehead. He refused to turn back around, and after a few seconds, he heard the door click shut. It seemed to echo and bounce off the walls. He grimaced at the sound. It seemed louder than it really should have been. Or maybe the silence that followed it was the thing that seemed louder. Whichever one it was, he didn't like it. It was uncomfortable.

He shifted with unease. He grimaced and looked up from the table, to the wall opposite him. He propped his head up on his unfractured hand, and then he straightened again and let his arm fall back to the table. He looked down and picked at his sleeve, hunching over so he could put his head down. He only stayed there for a couple of seconds before the pressure that wrapped around his sides got too uncomfortable and he pushed back up with a grimace. He took in a much bigger and slower breath than normal, and he tried to look around to distract himself. But it wasn't a good distraction.

He realized this was the first time he'd actually been left alone. Like, _actually_. He'd been alone in his room, but he'd always known that just down the hall, probably passing by every five minutes really, someone was there. The house wasn't _empty_. It wasn't just him there. Now, it was. He couldn't hear someone walking, or the sound of faint talking from around the corner. The silence was earsplitting. Like there was absolutely nothing there.

Like all he could do was stare ahead and just wait for something to happen.

Like he had when—

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"It's a ghost town," Kay murmured.

"Good." She turned and glanced at Cameron, unable to hide the concern that lingered in the very back of her gaze. He wasn't looking at her, though; he was looking at the store— at the empty halls with a kind of apprehension that made it seem like he was waiting for someone to jump out of the aisles and run screaming towards them. Thanks to good old anxiety, by the time Cameron had rushed outside, tugging his coat on haphazardly, Dina and Kay had still been getting into the car. He hadn't said much at all, and the stiff look that had been on his face did well to ward off any questions they might have had. He'd worn the look the entire way here, and he was still wearing it now.

"It's almost closing," Dina offered, already steering for the section with dish soap and laundry detergent. The other two followed. Cameron was walking a little closer to Kay than he typically did. The hood of his coat was still drawn up around his face. "You know what, while we're here there's a couple other things we might as well stop and get so we don't have to come all the way back out here tomorrow…" Kay didn't reply; she was too busy watching Cameron in her peripheral vision. There was a tiny frown on her face. Hardly noticeable. The memory of the last time they'd gone out was heavy in the air between each of them. The threat of something else happening was just as blatant.

Kay drafted a smile up onto her face. "You don't like shopping?" she prodded.

Cameron glanced at her. He seemed to hesitate over his reply.

It left a gap for Dina to answer. "Are you joking?" Cameron looked back at her, but her expression was fond, and overly so. She glanced at him and smiled. "Cameron loves every store, no matter what it is. We hardly go out with him in the first place because he just gets lost, and it takes ages for us to drag him out." He shot her a look, but it only made her smile more. This, of course, weakened Cameron's attempted glare and started to bring a grin over his own face. "But we can't let him go by _himself,_ because then he would buys the inventory and comes home with the most ridiculous things. He's an absolute nightmare."

"I don't _do_ that," Cameron objected.

"Cameron, one time you went out to go get _milk, a_ nd somehow you ended up coming back home with an iPad."

Kay snorted. Cameron's eyes went wide and he threw his arms out at his sides floppily. "Okay, but did Jordan _complain w_ hen I did? Now he never gets off of it, so I think the words you're looking for is: 'Thank you.'" Dina rolled her eyes. Cameron grinned more and kept going. "'Thank you so much, Cameron,'" he gushed, adopting a very dramatic, very _bad_ accent and raising his voice about two octaves, which didn't really work in the first place with his throat. All the same he didn't stop once the other two started laughing. "'Thank you for constantly being nice and bringing back cool things even though everyone is always mean to you all the time. You're a Saint.' I think that's what you meant to say."

"Don't do that Cameron," Dina admonished, turning into the aisle and starting to look for the soap they typically used.

"Don't do what?"

"Accents. You're bad at them."

"I'm _not_ though!" he squeaked. An actual squeak, which Kay wasn't sure whether to laugh at or cringe away from. He was still smiling though, so she decided not to dwell on it. "I'm _so_ good at accents. Or changing my voice in general. I fooled Kay that one time." She gave him a look and he revised himself with a reluctant dip of the head. "For like a minute. But that's impressive when you consider it's Kay," he rushed to add. Her expression softened at this, and his eyes flickered to her. Briefly, his smile turned warmer as well. Neither of them looked away— it was like they couldn't. Or neither of them wanted to be the first to.

Dina was still scanning the shelves; she didn't catch the exchange. "Your British one is awful," she just commented, and that was enough to get Cameron to wrench his head back front. He looked outraged— genuinely hurt. None of the affection was lost on Kay's face. In fact, it only grew as she leaned back, watching him as he shot a sour glare at his producer.

"My British accent is _perfect_ ," he argued. "I could _be_ British."

"I don't think so," Dina returned, disagreeing just to disagree at this point. She flashed him a teasing look, which he very clearly did not appreciate. Finally, she found the specific brand that she was looking for. As she was picking it up, however, her eyes flashed and she did a little jump. "Oh, hang on— while we're here." Kay was trying to remember herself what they were out of. Doing it all in one fell swoop would be much easier than carting themselves all the way back. But…Cameron _was_ out of the house. And he was enjoying it…or at least he wasn't miserable. He was talking and joking. Maybe saving some things for another trip out wouldn't be the worst idea…

"Hang on, I'll be right back I have to see if they have any," Dina was saying. Kay shook herself in just enough time to step to the side and clear the way for her. She watched her friend rush off with a little bit of bemusement, wondering if they were meant to follow. She hadn't even heard what she was on the lookout for— had Cameron?

As if he could read her mind, she straightened at his voice. "Kay."

She turned, to see him holding another container of soap. A different one than Dina had chosen, and he held it out towards her. "I don't know why Dina was so bent on getting that other one; this one smells better; try it." She tilted her head to the side, leaning out towards him and trying to see what he was talking about. No sooner did she lean down, though, did Cameron suddenly squeeze the middle and squirt it. She jumped backwards, but it still got on her coat. Her eyes went huge, with surprise and indignation alike. But Cameron was cracking up immediately, almost falling over, which just made her flare even more.

"Cameron!" she whined. He just kept laughing, and she was having to try and keep from smiling as she tried to wipe the mess off. "What the heck!"

"I don't know why you actually did it!" he gasped. "That's like the oldest trick in the book, I thought you were in the FBI."

She shot him a glare, but she couldn't quite manage it. He was still giggling, and a wide beam was on his face. She couldn't not smile, and once she started to, she just gave up and let it happen. She shook her head instead, looking down and trying to wipe off the soap as best she could. "You're ridiculous," she snapped, and he laughed even more. "You're a _child_ , I think the last time someone tried to do that to me I was in middle school."

"So you fell for it _before now_? Oh, Kay, that just makes it worse," he said in mock disappointment.

She looked at him crossly. "Did you _open that_?" Completely innocent, he placed it back on the shelf. She put her hands on her hips. "Cameron, you're not supposed to open those!" she hissed.

She couldn't remember the last time Cameron had laughed this long. Even though in hindsight it wasn't very long at all, it was still the most she'd heard him in weeks. She didn't realize how much she'd missed the sound of it. How much she was clinging to it while it was still here. "What are you gonna do, _arrest me_?" he snickered, flashing her a mischievous look. However, as soon as the words left his mouth, he stopped short, like he was just now realizing what he'd said. Kay had been laughing along with him, but she sobered the instant he did. His eyes rounded out a little, and his expression fell. The humorous glint in his eye was gone at once, and it was replaced with something close to remorse instead. He pressed his lips together tightly. And turned away from her before she could speak, suddenly very intent on making sure the dish soap was put back in the exact position he'd retrieved it from.

Kay's shoulders drooped, and sorrow gripped her chest with unexcepted ferocity as the glimpse of normalcy was ripped away. It hurt worse, now…after seeing him so happy, so carefree. With the second's difference, it was even harder to look at the empty expression on his face. She wilted…trying to come up with something to say that would recover at least a little bit of the lightheartedness. She would take anything. But Cameron was already turning and walking past her, out of the aisle where Dina had gone. She stood still for a few moments, staring dismally at the shelves. Before she scrounged up the courage to turn and follow.

Cameron had stopped at the end of the aisle; he looked a little lost and she could see why. Coming up to his side, Kay couldn't see Dina, or figure out where she'd headed. She hadn't been paying attention before, if she'd mentioned what was on her mind, and clearly Cameron had been just as aware. She glanced at him, not liking the dulled expression he'd regained— it was too close to the one he'd had in the car ride over here. His eyes were flickering over the store. If only to break the silence, she prompted: "Do you remember where she said she was going?"

"No," Cameron sighed. It looked like he was back to wanting to leave. Like a light switch, he'd been flipped. He kept looking around. "Maybe…she was complaining this morning, about—"

He stopped before he got the chance to finish. Dead in his tracks. Kay perked, expecting him to have suddenly landed on their friend. She turned to look in the direction he was, but frowned when she didn't see anyone. Her expression cleared quickly, though, once she realized he wasn't staring at some _one_. He was staring at some _thing._ Nearer to the front of the store, positioned by one of the registers that was now closed. It was a newspaper rack.

She weakened. "Cameron, let's—" But he was already walking away from her. She grimaced, but followed, shoving her hands down into her coat pockets as if she was suddenly cold. He went up to the rack and leaned down to pick up the one laying on top. Kay glanced around to check for an employee, who wouldn't take kindly to rifling through the paper without paying for it first. But the whole place was deserted, still. She turned back, looking down with a heavy heart at the front page, and the photo of Jonathan that was staring right back at them. She noticed that Cameron's grip tightened— that the edges crinkled.

She couldn't even bring herself to read the headline. Not that she needed to— Mike was telling her every little detail that was happening, and let nothing slip by. She couldn't even really look at the photo for very long. She found herself just looking at Cameron. But that was difficult as well, for an entirely different reason. His expression was filled with so much hurt it was almost disarming. She wasn't even sure he was breathing as his eyes flickered quickly over the ink. He hadn't asked her for any more information concerning Jonathan. She had reacted accordingly, and hadn't told him anything else, figuring that he just didn't want her to.

She guessed he wanted to know more than he would even admit to himself.

The more he read, the more injured he seemed to grow. His posture grew stiffer, and his shoulders curled in more. His eyes grew raw with pain. She stayed silent, and didn't try to stop him. She simply stood and waited for him to read the entire thing. To flip back and forth through the pages like he was worried he'd missed something. And when he was finished, he just went back and stared hollowly at the picture of his brother sitting in court, his eyes blatantly bright against the fluorescent lights of the shop. He said nothing for the longest time. Neither did she.

When he did speak, it was hardly a murmur. "Do you think he's really sorry?"

The question disarmed her. Because she wasn't sure how to answer. She tried to choose her words carefully. "I…think he regrets doing what he did…" For some reason, it took extra effort to get this out. Like she was having to shove them out one syllable at a time. She hoped Cameron didn't notice. "I think if he had the chance to go back…he wouldn't have done it." She hesitated and tacked on something she knew for a fact, at least. "I know he's worried about you. And…he wants to get back to you." Did that count for anything? To her it didn't. But to Cameron?

He couldn't tear his gaze away from the newspaper. Couldn't even blink. He did, however, grimace slowly. She hadn't thought it was even possible, but his voice got even quieter. "If I hadn't called him, would he have come back?"

She was mute. She couldn't answer— she didn't have one. Or maybe she did, and it just came in the form of the pain that crawled over her face.

The silence seemed to be enough for Cameron. He held the paper even tighter, his vision smearing with so much water he couldn't even make out the image of Jonathan. His voice hitched in something between sorrow and fear. And he just repeated himself: "Do you think he's really sorry?"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She didn't know what woke her up. The room was dead silent, and peaceful. Maybe it was just a feeling. Maybe it was just on accident. Whatever the reason, Kay's eyes slowly flickered open, and she dragged herself awake again. At first she was inclined to just go back to sleep. Until she felt the tiniest of shifts in her arms she realized Cameron was awake. She closed her eyes and hummed under her breath, feeling him immediately still. If she was aware enough, she probably would have sensed the guilt that was spiking off him. But she was still trying to wake herself up more. She didn't even remember closing her eyes. She must have fallen asleep faster than she anticipated. But she hadn't stayed asleep for very long, going by the time that was shining out from the digital clock.

"Did I wake you up?" Cameron's voice was quiet, and hushed. He'd been where he usually was— nestled so his head was resting against the crook of her neck. She felt him move away a little with the inquiry, and she was lucky she was awake enough now to stop the objection that almost wriggled its way off her tongue. She just took her arms back and rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn. She could barely see Cameron in the dark. She was almost inclined to turn the light on. But she figured she would adjust sooner or later. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"You didn't," she murmured. She let her arms fall again and just looked at him. She could basically see him, now. They were so close, it was easier. Her forehead creased a little. "Did you fall asleep at all?" It didn't sound like he had. Her voice was clogged and bleary— his was clear. Sure enough, silence met her question. "Did you take any melatonin?" she asked gently. Usually taking some of those worked. He might have to take ten milligrams over the suggested dose…but they worked. Either that, or Nyquil— between those two, one of them ended up getting him to sleep for at least a little while.

"I took four. I can't sleep."

She frowned. She shifted so she was more on her side. Much more awake now, she took in a thoughtful breath. "Well. I was rummaging around this morning and I found a puzzle that looks like it's never been opened. We could get up and do that." The briefest second of silence followed the suggestion, before a tiny laugh came from Cameron. It brought a smile to Kay's face immediately. "Or there's brownie mix," she offered, her words ending in a yawn. She shook herself and swept on. "We could absolutely make…" she looked at the clock, "…1:13 am brownies."

Cameron sounded like he was stifling another laugh as he mused: "Of course. Because what else do you do at 1:13 in the morning?"

Kay smiled. When he made no move to agree, however, she prompted: "We _can_."

"You're tired," Cameron objected. Though she could still see a hint of a grin on his face, in the dark. "We're not doing any of that."

"You just don't want to face the fact I would be better at puzzles than you."

"You have to wait until _at least_ seven in the morning to insult me, Kay. Right now is too early."

She laughed a little under her breath. The two of them fell silent, and she grew more solemn as she realized he was looking at her strangely. She couldn't quite pin down the look on his face, though it could be due to the fact it was so dark and she was still clearing her head a little bit. A frown worried her features. Cameron moved back a little closer. As he came near, she reached out and drifted a hand along the side of his face, her fingers stilling in his hair. He didn't react harshly to her touch— in fact, with a tiny exhale, he moved to hold her again. But this time, he held her more to his chest and put his head on top of hers. She didn't resist. But her eyes were drawn to his neck, and she found herself picturing the bruises that were there.

She curled more into him. "Are you okay?" she whispered. Her words were almost lost in his shirt.

It took a very long time for him to respond. Time that she gave him.

"…It's really weird," he rasped eventually. She said nothing— just left him space to go on. Which he took, but only after yet another long hesitation. His voice was filled with it, as well. Like his brain was barely allowing himself to get this out. "It's weird to…just be here, and— be with you and have everything…be fine, and _good,_ and it _is_ good, it's…" She realized now why he'd pulled her closer. Why he'd made it so she couldn't see his face. He'd done so on purpose. He didn't want her staring at him when he said any of this. "When…"

This pause seemed longer than the others. Kay began to run the tips of her fingers soothingly over his collarbone. Gradually, he scraped together the nerve to keep going. And suddenly she was glad that her face was also hidden, because in the face of his next words, tears were quick to burn at her eyes. "I thought I was going to die." He sounded choked. But he got it out. And though it felt like every word now was acid, he continued to force them out, despite the difficulty. "I _wanted_ to die." The four words may as well have been punches directly to her gut. "I was…positive. I _knew_ it. And…" He sniffed. She could feel him shaking just a little bit, against her. "I mean— they only left because…I couldn't even _flinch_ , I was…so gone, I…" If Kay was thinking about it, she would have worried that he would feel her tears through his shirt. But she wasn't, right now.

Cameron took a second to gather himself back together. She could practically feel him scrambling to pick up the pieces before they could make too big a mess. It was fragile, and it was difficult, but he was doing it. She wasn't sure what she was crying more about: the mental images Cameron's words created, or the fact that he was finally saying them in the first place and struggling so much in the process. "And now I'm…just _here_." He almost laughed on the last word. It would have qualified for one, had it not sounded so sad. "And I'm here with _you_ , and it's just…it's… _weird._ "

"I understand," she whispered. It was impossible not to notice her voice was thicker than normal.

Cameron held her a little tighter. "It doesn't feel real…or right. I keep…worrying I'll wake up or…snap out of it, or…"

"You're right here," she reassured him quietly. "With me." And though she didn't say anything else, there was enough feeling behind her words to make actually adding onto it obsolete. There was earnestness and protectiveness and regret and relief. There was a silent promise, that as long as he wanted her to be, she would remain by his side because that was where she wanted to be. There was a promise that things were okay, and even with whatever was to come, she would try her best to make sure it stayed that way. That eventually, even if it had to be years down the road, they would put this behind them and Cameron would finally be able to say he feels okay again. Whether it be a month from now, or whether it be a year. Ten years, or twenty, they would eventually reach it.

It was all there, in those five words.

Cameron let go of her a little bit and shifted back. In the dark, it was difficult to see his face, or what his expression was. She was sure he could see just as little as she could. But she saw his arm move, and she felt it when he carded his fingers gently through her hair. She didn't move at all. When Cameron tucked a few locks behind her ear, she was a statue. Her hand stayed against his collarbone and she felt her arm bend just as a little as he leaned closer. She didn't even blink. And when Cameron's lips found hers, she still remained motionless.

She was frozen, at first. Torn between ecstatic happiness, and alarm that this was the wrong thing to let happen. She didn't know whether to pull him more against her or nudge him away. She didn't think she had the heart to do the latter. But she also didn't want him getting upset again. Last time it had set him back, and it had set him back wildly. He'd made so much progress— if she broke that all again, she would never forgive herself. She'd barely forgiven herself for the first slip-up as it was. But that had been on her terms. That had been when _she_ had been the one to kiss _him_ , and she had pulled too close and gone too fast. This time Cameron was the one initiating it— did that make any difference?

All these thoughts flashed by in less than a few seconds. The kiss was small and it was tentative. Cameron didn't pull so much away, as he just hesitated. Their lips barely even a millimeter apart, Kay whispered: "Are you okay?" She didn't want him to just be doing this for her. That was the opposite of what she wanted him to do, and she was sure it was the opposite of what he wanted as well.

But his voice, however small, wasn't riddled with panic when he murmured: "Yeah, I'm…fine."

She was still hesitant. Cameron inched back into her, but he was moving more reluctantly now, like he wasn't sure. She softened, and a surge of affection so great slammed into her that she found it impossible to breathe around. She put a hand against his cheek again and smiled comfortingly. A silent means of saying he didn't have to do this. That this wasn't what she was looking for. That moment in the store, where he'd smiled and laughed… _that_ was what she was _truly s_ earching for. If she could have that and nothing else, she would never once feel the smallest bit of disappointment. All she wanted was for Cameron to be happy again.

Because she loved him.

But with her smile, and the adoring look on her face, along with her still-watering eyes, Cameron was leaning in again. This time she kissed him back, but took great care in making sure it was right. She followed his lead and didn't dare do anything besides that. Each kiss was small and gentle, and very very slow. It wasn't rushed, like before— it wasn't heated. Each one was soft, and chaste. Each one was tinged with the tiniest hint of salt, and neither of them could tell if it was from Kay's tears, or from Cameron's. Maybe it was from both.

Kay's heart felt like it was breaking, she was so happy. She was smiling into Cameron's lips every time he came back to her. She didn't move closer, or hold onto him tighter. This was enough. This was more than enough. And it was communicated in every kiss. All her relief, all her affection, all her promises, all her encouragement— it was there in every one. And in the exchange she could feel Cameron's gratitude. His own relief, his own affection.

She hadn't had too many moments in her life that were slow. But she had had even less moments in her life that were perfect.

Eventually each kiss began to get slower and slower. Until there was one last lingering one before Cameron pulled away. Only a little bit, though, so their foreheads could rest together. Kay looked at him adoringly, and her affection only grew at the tiny smile that was teasing the corners of his lips. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Her expression faltered just a little. "I didn't ask."

She smiled even more, the tiniest hint of pain in the very back of her stare. But Cameron's eyes were bright. For once, they didn't seem hindered at all. For the first time in ages, he almost looked like his old self. She reached out and wrapped her arms around him again, and he followed suit. He fit back into her seamlessly. She found herself softening. She didn't know what she would have done if Cameron really had died. This situation was already painful enough…just the thought of it now – that she wouldn't be holding him in her arms like she was now, couldn't feel his breathing against hers – made her sick to her stomach. She couldn't have lost him. And she wasn't going to lose him now.

He meant too much to her.

She ducked her head a little bit, drawing her fingers soothingly through his hair. Softly, she whispered: "You're amazing, Cameron Black."

He melted more into her, and held a little tighter.

She didn't close her eyes again. This time, she was the one that stayed up. She held him and gave him security, listening to his breathing as it slowly became deeper and slower. She felt him finally relax. She made sure that he got to sleep, before she even thought about doing the same. Even when he did, she tried to stay up a little bit longer…to hang onto this moment – another slow one, another perfect one – so that she could have it just in case.

But it was no use. In his arms, she couldn't manage staying awake for much longer, either.

In no time, the both of them were fast asleep.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He'd waited to hear those words. He'd waited for ages. More than a year. He'd waited for this very moment to happen, and yet…now that it was here…it was hollow. There was no cheering. No high-fiving, no yelling "I told you so" which he was positive would have come from Cameron at some point, knowing his brother. There was no euphoria, with the release. No excitement at the declaration of innocence. There wasn't anything at all. Deakins had only seemed satisfied in the sense that all their bargaining seemed to pay off. Mike had absolutely no emotional reaction whatsoever.

Jonathan Black was free…but the cost of the freedom had been too much.

Even he only felt hollow at the announcement.

And he'd stayed hollow through everything else. Just like he was hollow now.

At the first chance he got, he picked up a phone.

It was picked up on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"Cameron."

Immediately, there was a change. Jonathan could _feel_ it. It was _palpable._ And it was a feeling he didn't even really know his brother could have when it came to him. Not before this, anyway. There was absolute silence on the other end. Cameron said nothing. Jonathan closed his eyes and ducked his head. He leaned forward to prop himself up on the table he was standing in front of, and his inhale was a little more punctured when he just forced himself to keep talking. To spit it out. Because, despite everything, this was the reaction he actually wanted to know. To receive. Even if it was bad. Even if it was painful. He knew he deserved it. Just like he deserved everything else. "I'm out."

There was a pause on the other line. Jonathan could have _sworn_ he heard a laugh. A tiny one— a bitter one, almost. Before: "That's good. I'm happy. For you." The words were too short. Too not Cameron.

Jonathan stared down at the table, memorizing the wood grains. Again, his breath in was fast. "I, uh— I'm staying with Gunter, I…figured…that would…be the best thing, right now. Or— tonight."

"That makes sense." Jonathan hardly heard the mumble. Maybe Cameron meant it only for himself.

Ten full seconds passed in silence before Jonathan spoke again. "I…Cameron, I…want to talk to you," he blurted out. Nothing came as a response. He closed his eyes before going on, like that would make it easier. "I just…can I talk to you? Can I see you? I want to…see you." It was all wrong. Not just these words— the entire thing. Still, he got no response. He smiled and tried to laugh, but it failed miserably. "You're my brother," he stated. Like Cameron was the one that needed reminding of the fact. "I…miss you."

"I missed you too," he returned stiffly.

The tense felt strange. Like it was wrong. But like it also wasn't.

"Can I?" Jonathan pressed after a pause. "I…Cameron, I want to make things right. Or I want to try, at least. I want to…make this whole thing up to you. To…apologize, to explain my— well, not explain myself, I just…I'm out," he repeated weakly. "I'm out, this is what we've been waiting for!" He tried to make his voice brighter. "This is what we were working for, this is what it was all for!"

"…Yeah," Cameron returned softly. "I guess it was."

Jonathan closed his eyes in a harsh cringe. He ducked his head down to his chest, taking a moment to feel everything at once. Frustration, regret, remorse, guilt, anger, everything. Before he shoved it all down and exhaled. Opened his eyes again and offered: "You can think about it, Cameron. If you want."

"Okay."

Jonathan hesitated. But there wasn't anything more to say. He closed his eyes, daring to add a small: "I love you. Cameron."

"…Okay."

The word might as well have been a knife cutting right into him. His voice was thick when he spoke again, but he was beyond caring by this point. "Okay," he repeated. "…Bye, Cameron."

He was met with a click.

Jonathan pulled the phone away from his ear, staring down at it blankly, like he'd never seen it before.

"Well?"

He turned, looking at Gunter. He was sitting on one of the two hotel beds, having watched him carefully this entire time. Jonathan couldn't speak clearly, he knew. He just shook his head once. Set the phone down on its receiver and tried not to focus on how loud the sound of it was. Gunter's eyes flashed. He stared at his friend for a long moment before he said bracingly: "Well…I'm sure he'll come around. Until then…we should celebrate! You're all clear! You deserve to have a night out!"

Jonathan said nothing. And he did nothing as Gunter got up and made for the bathroom. "I know a few places we can go to. And think of it this way: you can introduce yourself properly! As Jonathan! There's a club we found a couple months ago I'm sure you'd love it's called The…"

Jonathan wasn't listening. He wasn't even reacting.

He just stared down at the floor. Completely blank.


	6. Chapter 6

The house was quiet.

And it wasn't the peaceful kind of quiet anymore. It was the kind of quiet that was oppressing and suffocating. That made him feel like he was being choked. And made him feel lonely. Even though he wasn't in technical definitions 'alone.' Dina was in her room, likely still asleep. He would be asleep too, if it hadn't been for Kay leaving to go to work. She'd tried to be quiet about it – she usually did – but Cameron had felt her pull away from him, and the moment she was taking her arms away, however reluctantly, his eyes were opening. He'd only been half-awake. She'd whispered a couple of apologies and a goodbye, and her hand had lingered on his shoulder briefly after she'd fixed the blanket to pull it back over him. But she'd left all the same.

Despite her apologies, he was glad he'd woken up. It was better that way. It had only happened once so far, given that it was still a newer thing. But one morning he'd woken up without her there, and her spot cold. He'd met it with unreasonable and uncollected alarm. Only for a couple seconds. And then he'd felt an overwhelming sense of sorrow grip his chest, so blatant that it hurt. Even though he couldn't go back to sleep once she did, he would always rather have Kay wake him on her way out. So her apologies weren't really needed.

But being woken up _did_ leave him with moments like this. It was still much too early for Dina to be up, and Cameron had to no reason to wake her. He couldn't go back to sleep, but he couldn't just lay there and let his mind wander. Letting his mind wander was the worst thing he could allow himself to do nowadays. But there wasn't much to offer in terms of distractions. He didn't want to turn on the television. He wasn't hungry. He couldn't go out somewhere. Or…he _could_ but he didn't _want_ to. He couldn't do much of anything. So his mind did wander. But…thankfully, it seemed to favor the lesser of the two evils, this time.

He was still in Jonathan's room. Cameron hadn't even really realized it. He'd just kind of…made the room _his_ at some point. He'd moved here not two days after he got home…that was back when he still wholeheartedly believed that there was something more. Something worth it, something validating, something _there_. _Anything._ He was willing to take anything, back then. And he was willing to take any comfort, back then, too. It still hurt now to get around sometimes, and his stamina wasn't nearly what it used to be. Back then, it had been hell just to force himself to stand up. And yet he'd dragged himself all the way here, much to the dismay of Dina. He'd limped and staggered and had to stop to brace himself against the wall as he did. He'd been biting down on a scream by the time he'd finally reached the bed and collapsed into it. But he'd thought it was worth it.

He didn't know what he'd been trying to prove. If he'd been trying to prove anything in the first place. He'd been trying to get comfort…that was probably the biggest slice of the motivation. He'd been trying to get comfort and this was just the closest he could get. His entire life, and Jonathan had been the one he could turn to when things got bad or hard. No matter what, he always knew that his twin would be there, because he was always there for him. They'd lived their entire lives side-by-side…the comfort was second nature. Though back then he'd thought that there was something more to his brother's actions, he still hadn't had him there for the comfort he'd been aching for.

And he had ached for it. He'd _needed_ it. The fact that he didn't have Jonathan there to smile at him and reassure him it'd turn out alright had been like a knife lodged deep into his heart. Like every second, with every beat, it would be sliced more and more around the blade, and the pain would only grow tenfold. The blood would only gush out faster. Moving rooms, as stupid as it was and as pointless as it was, was the closest thing he could get to having his brother back and there for him again. Trying to wrap himself up tight enough in the blanket so it felt like he was being hugged, and trying to see whether or not he could smell him somewhere on the pillows…that was all he'd had.

He'd moved rooms so that he could maybe feel his brother again, or trick himself to, anyway. So that maybe he could fool himself into thinking that he would burst over the threshold, snapping at him to get out and go back to his own room and give him some space. So he could try and remember the nights when they were younger, and happier, and more carefree, sharing a bed in some dingy motel or crammed together in some coffin-like container during a trick. So he could pretend he was anywhere else but where he actually was.

He'd started out here, fully believing that denial was enough, and that Jonathan would be back soon. That he just had to be satisfied with this in the meantime. Now, weeks later, and he was still here. Now he knew that the comfort was pointless, and that the type he was looking for didn't even exist in the first place. That his brother hadn't had some grand scheme…that his plan had begun and ended with him sticking him in prison and never looking back over his shoulder. That it turned out, laying there and really stopping to think about it for the first time…being in here made everything hollower. Being in here hurt worse. Maybe it had this entire time, and he was only just now realizing it.

But in here, surrounded by his brother's things, with the last phone call echoing in his ears…Cameron got up. He couldn't keep looking at the books that were on the shelves, because he just recalled the ones that he'd purchased for him because he knew they were his favorites. He couldn't look at the desk and the blueprints that Jonathan had been working on, because he'd rushed in himself to see them. He couldn't look at the dresser because he knew that if he looked hard enough, he'd see the chip in the wood from the time he'd helped him move it in and they'd accidentally hit the doorframe on the way. He couldn't look at anything because it made him too sick to.

He laid there for ages, hesitating, like it would make a difference. But eventually he turned and pushed himself up, his eyes flickering around the room one last time, and his expression pulling over with something far too close to pain. He wormed out from underneath the covers and stood, exhaling a little shakily against the pain that prickled its way up his sides. His ribs were certainly taking their time healing…nearly everything else was much more on its way in comparison. But the pain around his lungs was ever-present as he turned and left the room, his footsteps sounding much too loud against the wood floor.

He lingered in the hall uncertainly for a long moment. Before he just turned and went back for his room instead. It seemed colder in there, though he knew the thought was irrational. And it seemed darker, too, which he knew was even more so. He closed the door with a click behind him, and he let his back rest against it briefly. His expression was exhausted as he looked over the room. At the mementos from shows that he'd kept, and thought were so important. Now he was wondering why he ever could have figured as much.

It was a lifetime ago.

And somehow…he feared it would _stay_ a lifetime ago.

His eyes caught on the bedside table. He walked over and picked up the picture frame that was there. He remembered taking it. And he _had_ been the one to take it. Him and Jonathan…they hardly ever caught dead in the same picture, even in pictures like these, where it wouldn't leave the walls of the Archive. Who knew what could happen? Who might see it? Even in their personal phones, you could probably only count on one hand how many actually had the two of them side-by-side. Because that was important…hadn't it been? That had been so important…how in the _world_ had that been so important?

He shook his head to try and clear it. He redirected his focus back down on the photo. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was a sad smile, and the more it grew, the sadder it became. It was a photo of Jonathan and the rest of the team, sitting around the table. They were in the middle of a board game, but they'd taken this moment to stop and capture it. Gunter and Jordan weren't fighting…they were grinning identically, Jordan flashing a peace sign at the camera. Dina and Jonathan were sitting close together, their arms brushing and their bodies angled towards each other's. Dina was positively glowing…she looked like she did now whenever she was with Mike. And Jonathan…

Jonathan was smiling, and his eyes were shining. He looked like he was frozen mid-laugh, in fact.

Cameron stared down at it, not even blinking. Just watching as the shapes and colors of the photograph began to warp the more his eyes began to sting. He tried to remember that night, but for some reason he couldn't scrounge up a single detail. Had it been after a show? Had it been during a break? How long had Jonathan and Dina been dating? Had they even started officially dating, now? He hated himself for not being able to answer a single one of those questions. For not knowing every little detail of this moment, now that he knew it would never be that way again. For not realizing how important it would be that night to cherish it because soon everything would be ruined.

For not knowing whether or not the smile on his brother's face was genuine or just put on for show.

He set the frame down and took care in arranging it so it wasn't out of place. He lingered on it for a moment more, his heart too heavy to look away. When suddenly his eyes flashed and he looked up. His forehead creased, as something occurred to him, and the curiosity was enough to rip his attention away for the time being. He turned instead, and his eyes zeroed in on the small bookshelf in the corner. His wasn't a full one, like Jonathan's. Unlike his brother, he never really made the time to read— he didn't have the attention span for it, Dina used to say. In fact, most of the books that were on that shelf was just overflow from Jonathan's room that he let his brother store in here instead.

But he turned all the same, frowning as he walked over. He kneeled down slowly, and with a harsh cringe of pain. He hissed through clenched teeth as he had to hunch a little bit, but when he got down to the floor, the waves of agony passed. He could shake it off and look over the spines that were facing out to him. His eyes went back and forth over them as he racked his brain, trying to remember which one it was in. If it was even in there anymore in the first place, or if he'd taken it out. He might have. His memory seemed to be failing him as of late. Usually he could conjure up anything in less than a second.

He found it. And he leaned forward, using his uninjured hand to wrap his fingers around the book in particular and wriggle it out. He couldn't remember where he'd stuck it…somewhere random in the pages of the book, because he figured shoving it into the back cover was too obvious a ploy. Sure enough, he flipped through the pages until he got to page 215. The photograph that had been stuck there ages ago fell out as he thumbed through, and he blinked a couple times in surprise, looking down at it. His stomach twisted, and his eyebrows pulled together more in pain. But, after only a small pause, he turned and set the book aside, trading the weight in his hands instead for the photo.

He flipped it over so he could actually see it, and though he knew what would be waiting for him, and though he'd tried to brace himself for it, it was still a hard punch to his gut when he saw it again. Growing up, Jonathan and Cameron were never allowed to be in the same picture together. Jonathan had been taught to avoid cameras altogether, and did so mostly out of a habit after a while. The habit kind of followed them along even after their father was gone. So there weren't many pictures at all that had the two of them in it.

This one was one of the meager few.

It was ages ago. Even further back than a lifetime. He wasn't sure how old they were, because he wasn't sure he even remembered the day this was taken. Even though he wished he did. It was a photo of him and his brother…if he had to guess, they must have been five or six. Somewhere in that area, anyway. Though he couldn't remember the day it had been taken, he remembered the day he'd found the snapshot. It had been in an album shoved way far back in a closet— not a surprise, given what was captured in the frame. He'd swiped it for himself. He'd stored it away again but this time somewhere he could drag it out easier.

He'd thought it was adorable. When he'd showed it to Jonathan, his brother had just smiled indulgently. He'd seemed a little more on the embarrassed side. And maybe it made sense. It was a photo of the two of them hugging. Or, rather Jonathan hugging _him_. He was practically knocking him over, in fact; it looked like he'd just ran over and slammed into him full-force. Cameron was falling, frozen halfway down to the ground. But there was a huge smile on his face, only contested with the grin that was on Johnny's. He was beaming, throwing his arms around his brother and laughing. Cameron was reaching up to lock his arms around the ones that were wrapped around his neck.

His eyes stayed stuck on that detail for what felt like forever. Pressure building in his throat.

When he was finally able to rip his eyes away, they went to Jonathan instead. His throat only grew tighter. He couldn't even bring himself to breathe as he looked at the smile that was on his brother's face. At how happy he was, and how happy they were _together._ Looking at it now, his chest yawned in pain. He found himself wishing that that rule hadn't existed. That there were more pictures of them in every stage of life, as older kids, as tweens, as teenagers, as young adults.

But not to see each little milestone or to remember happier moments like this one.

He wished there were more so he could see the change.

He wished he could take it picture by picture, stage by stage, and see Jonathan in every one. If he put them side-by-side, maybe he could see. Maybe he could look through them all and realize what had happened. Pin down the singular moment where the smile became faker, and the light in his eyes dulled. He wished he could see where it really was he went wrong, and Jonathan started to hate him. Because he did. He _had._ Screw the phone conversation— he wouldn't have left him the way he had if he didn't hold a real, deep-seated grudge. He wouldn't have done what he did if there wasn't some part of him that didn't _truly_ want him to rot in that prison instead. That wanted him out of his life completely.

So where was it? What had been the tipping moment? What had been the final straw? What could Cameron have done differently, if not the whole entire thing? He kept staring down at the photograph, watching the image smear and blur in his hands. When had Jonathan stopped running up to hug him? When had he stopped smiling that big around him? What had Cameron done that ruined what that little boy had? Or was it just that Jonathan woke up one day and realized how awful a person he was? Maybe he didn't do anything at all, and that was just the case.

Maybe that was it.

Maybe Jonathan just grew up. Maybe he just learned better.

Cameron's grip on the photo began to grow harder. His hands were shaking, and therefore the image began to do the same. He looked at the two of them and his stomach bean to twist and writhe. A sick feeling was beginning to bottle itself in the back of his throat, like the sick feeling he'd had the entire time he'd stayed at Rockland for Jonathan. Thinking he had a plan because he'd been too stupid to realize that he and his brother weren't five anymore. That things had changed, and the person that had run up behind him to hug him wasn't the same person that had been standing in front of him in the prison that day. That everything was different because the person that had smashed into him with a huge bear hug before, was now sending him just as hard to the ground, but with a punch this time, instead.

He'd been stupid, he'd been _so_ stupid. Thinking that there was a way out of everything, thinking that Jonathan would come back for him and make everything better. Staying there in that prison – he'd _stayed_ there on his own accord! – because he'd made the decision to be completely blind to everything. Comforting himself at night by reiterating that his brother would never abandon him— by trying to distract himself by thinking of moments exactly like this, _struggling_ to tell himself that there _had_ to have been _something_ behind the hugs, behind the nights spent laughing, behind the practices that stretched on longer through the night because they were having much more fun than they'd anticipated. Keeping silent and refusing to say the three words that maybe _maybe_ just _maybe_ could have stopped everything— "I'm not Jonathan."

Laying in that supply closet, hurting and bleeding and disgusting and dying, thinking of the times they were kids when his brother had smiled at him and said, "You got this, Cam."

He gritted his teeth, feeling his lips shake where they pressed tightly together. The pressure only built and layered on top of itself. His breathing began to hitch and spike. Cameron closed his eyes tightly and cringed. He moved to hold the picture tightly by its top, and he bit down on the pain it took in his fractured hand to hold it hard enough. And he moved before he could think. He moved before he could really even know it was what he was going to do. He moved, and then the answer of what he'd just done came in the form of a long tearing noise. He flinched from the tiny sound. Like it was a slap across the face. He dropped the pieces. And he kept his eyes closed, like that would change anything at all.

After nearly thirty full seconds of sitting tensely, in complete silence, Cameron forced his eyes to crack open. He blinked and looked at his hands, feeling tears ebb down his face as he stared at his now-empty palms. Still blinking rapidly, he looked down at the floor. His breath hitched when he saw the two halves. He'd split it right down the middle, tearing the two of them apart. At first, he just stared at it, sorrow and despair locking around him like a chokehold.

But quickly, it changed, and Cameron's eyes rounded out in shock. He gasped and flew out to pick up the two pieces, his face falling as he looked at them both with dismay. He fit it back together, but it was no use without tape. Tape— did they have tape? Did they have tape in the house!? Would it look the same if he taped it back together!? "Shit!" he breathed, his voice clenching into a pained octave. Frustration joined the burning sorrow now, and a noise of pain squeaked out of his throat as he shook his head. There were only a handful of pictures of the two of them together— he couldn't even remember where any of the other ones were! Not like he remembered this one!

"Fuck!"he snapped, his voice slowly becoming more and more choked. He cringed and tried to shift the pieces again when they became less aligned. He tried to get it perfectly back the way it was, but the edges of each were awkwardly-shaped. His grip was becoming tighter just from sheer agitation, and suddenly his left hand went into a spasm of extreme pain. He cried out and his fingers went numb, causing him to drop the half of the photo that had him on it. He clamped down hard on the unexpected agony, and just looked down miserably as it fluttered the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could manage. More and more frustration welled in his chest, so much so he felt like it would explode. He just sat back against the wall, hesitating only a second before hitting his head back against it hard. He repeated the curse again, even more congested this time. _"Fuck!"_

He felt himself start to slip. He felt himself start to spiral. He was getting better at digging his heels into the ground and stopping himself before he could, nowadays. But not this time. This time, there wasn't a point. This time he couldn't choke back the despair, the self-loathing.

Why was he so _stupid!?_ What did doing that even _prove!?_ Why didn't he think!? Now what was he going to do!?

He didn't even know what those questions were for.

His relationship with Jonathan in the first place? Helping Sawyer? Tearing the picture?

His breathing only escalated when he realized it didn't matter. It applied to everything.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"So I just told him he had five seconds to put the girl scout cookies down before there was going to be a very big problem," Dina began to conclude. "And, of course, he doesn't, there are Thin Mints absolutely _everywhere_ , and I just _knew_ we weren't going to have a repeat of May eleventh. _So._ I grabbed the box myself and I decided that there was only one way this was going to end, and that was by—"

Her story was cut off prematurely when there was a knock on the door. She turned and looked in the direction of the noise, her face falling into uncertainty. Her eyes flickered over to Cameron, but he hadn't reacted. In fact, he hadn't reacted to anything at all up until this point. He'd sat at the kitchen table but he'd set his head down a long time ago, taking to staring off to the side a little blankly. He seemed distracted, and apparently whatever was on his mind was enough to deter him from even hearing the arrival of someone strange.

Kay was sitting at his side. Before now, she'd alternated from being an attentive listener to the admittedly wild story Dina was telling, and glancing worriedly down at Cameron. But when there was knocking, her attention was ripped in its direction just like Dina's was. In fact, the two looked in its direction at the same exact time, and they both looked at each other with twin looks of confusion and nerves. Neither of them had invited anyone over, that much was certain. Dina's eyes went to Cameron one last time before she shot Kay a look and pushed herself off of the counter to make for the entryway.

Kay stayed put where she was, tracking her friend for a heartbeat before she turned back to Cameron. "Hey," she murmured, her voice noticeably gentle. He didn't react to her – didn't even blink – so she reached out a little cautiously and put a hand lightly between his shoulder blades. He roused at once and started to sit up, inhaling a little sharply through his nose. Her expression weakened with pain as she watched him, and it didn't lessen when he turned to look at her. He seemed exhausted. And worried. Sad. Not unlike how he usually was, but somehow Kay still wasn't used to seeing that expression on his face. Or…maybe in a way she _was_ , but she hated that that was the case. She took her hand back when she saw he was a little stiff, and she tilted her head to the side. "You okay?" she asked just as quietly.

"Mhm." He sighed and turned back front, reaching up and rubbing at his face with his good hand before he propped his head up with it. "Just tired," he muttered. He still seemed far away as he just fell silent. Kay wilted, trying to search his face for what he wasn't telling her. But it was hard to do, considering there was so much he was keeping back in the first place. She started to try and see whether or not she could ask him anything more – she knew prodding for information at all was the equivalent of making it across a mine field and keeping all your limbs – when she didn't get the chance to. When all of a sudden, she heard Dina's voice, sharpened into something much too close to anger.

"No. _No. Absolutely_ not. Not now." She sounded livid. Kay frowned and turned, but her frown only worsened when Cameron did the same. Neither of them moved at first, they just listened. But the unease was identical on their faces the more Dina spoke. She must have been replying to something the newcomer had said. Her voice was even harder than it had been initially. "No, because you've made your stance on this whole position _very clear. That's_ why you can't come in." Cameron slid off the stool he'd been perched on and he started in her direction. Kay grimaced, but she caught herself in time to keep from calling him back. She just shook her head and followed.

"We've made a _world_ of progress, and you want to undo all of that for no reason," Dina was practically hissing once they got closer. Kay was fearing the worst. A nosy reporter, Jonathan standing on the doorstep trying to demand his way inside. They all knew he wanted to talk to Cameron. Kay and Dina had snapped onto high alert the second the news broke he was a free man now. They didn't have much of a choice, all things considered. And Cameron had told Kay about the phone conversation he'd had two nights ago. Since then there hadn't been so much as a phone call— was this Jonathan here now, drawing the line and just forcing his way inside anyway?

But no. The culprit was given away as soon as they were close enough to hear their voice. "It's not for no reason," Gunter objected, his voice thin with frustration. Cameron wilted at the sound of his friend's voice, and when they came up behind Dina and could actually see him, he only deflated more. It felt like ages since Gunter had been in the house…though he knew it hadn't been that long in the grand scheme of things. Seeing him again now made him realize just how much he missed everyone being here and together. How much he missed Gunter and Jordan bickering back when fights meant nothing, because they all knew they would laugh it off by the end of the night.

"You can't keep them separate forever like they're dogs that don't get along," Gunter pressed, not yet catching sight of the other two walking in on the conversation. Dina stiffened, positively enraged at the analogy. "Jonathan has been doing nothing but worrying since he's gotten out— he's paced a rut in the floor by now! He just wants to see Cameron and talk to him— he wants to put this all behind us! He wants everything back to normal— isn't that what Cameron wants too?" He shook his head and pressed: "We've been trying to get Jonathan back for more than a year now, and now that we have, he isn't even allowed back into his own _home!"_

"This isn't his home," Dina growled, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "He gave up that right when he left Cameron."

Gunter fumed, clamping his mouth closed tighter and shaking his head. " _How_ are we supposed to move on when you won't even let him _near_ here?" he demanded, the question scathing. "Is this how it's always going to be? Is there not even a chance for him to make anything right!?" Dina started to say something, but before she had the chance, Gunter's eyes caught on Cameron. When he realized that Kay was standing beside him, the tiniest bit of anger leaked into his expression. It was muted, but it was enough for Cameron to pick up on. It was enough for the both of them to pick up on. But if there was any question, it was answered when he spoke. "Cameron, is this you talking, or is it just her?"

"Okay, you know what—?" Dina began to snap, reaching out as if to nudge him away from the doorway so she could close it.

But he wasn't too keen on allowing the effort. "Let him talk!" he snapped. Cameron winced away from the yell and looked off to the side, his shoulders locking up. Kay edged so she could stand closer to him. Gunter didn't miss the gesture, and his expression only became more clouded. "How can you forgive Kay for all of this? She had just as much to do with it!" She went rigid, freezing in a mixture of rage and horror. Cameron refused to look back at him. "If the FBI had helped with Jonathan, none of this would have happened! They left him, and he felt like he had no other choice but to do what he did! He was just doing for himself what they couldn't! So how can you forgive her and not your own brother!?"

"Gunter, you need to leave," Dina growled. "You have _no_ idea—"

"Jonathan's been sitting by the phone for the past _two days_! He asks me every other hour if anyone's called, or if I've heard anything, and we _all_ know I haven't! All he wants to do is talk to you! All he wants to do is make things right! You're telling me you let _her_ make up for everything and you're not going to let him? You owe it to him!"

"Cameron doesn't owe Jonathan _anything_!" Dina spat. "I cannot _believe_ you have the _nerve_ to even make it _seem_ like—!"

"Is that why you're here?" Cameron asked dully, snapping everyone's attention at once, despite the low level of his voice. He forced himself to look back at Gunter, and tried not to ignore how his chest constricted when he did. How much it hurt because he'd missed him, and yet _this_ was the first time he'd seen him in ages. When Gunter locked eyes with him, he seemed to stop a little short, like he was caught off-guard by something. When he didn't reply at once, Cameron just repeated himself. "Is that the only reason you came? To tell me I'm being _mean?"_ His voice was so flat you could skate on it.

Gunter hesitated. For a few heartbeats he was silent, just searching his face a little blankly. For a moment it looked like he was going to say something else— like he was tempted to say something more. But it must not have been that strong an impulse, because he bit it back. He just cleared his throat and looked down, reaching into his pocket. "No, I…came to return this. Jonathan wanted to do it himself, but…he figured…you'd have an issue with that." He glanced at Dina a little sharper when he said this, which she ignored. She just watched along with Cameron and Kay as Gunter drew out the phone and held it out.

Cameron almost didn't realize what it was. He'd gone for so long without it, he was practically prepared to admit that it had just stopped existing in the first place. He hesitated for a long moment, just staring at the device like he'd never seen it before. Until he forced himself to reach out and take his phone back. "He asked me about five times to tell you he's sorry," Gunter said. Cameron didn't look up at him. "He regrets what he did, Cameron. He made a mistake. He just wants to try and make it right again."

"He's done too much," Dina replied thinly, hurt raw in her gaze as she glared at her friend. There was plenty of emotion behind the words to back up the retort. He _had_ done a lot. To the people on this side of the threshold. He'd cheated on Dina. He'd nearly ruined her relationship with Mike by persuading her to steal his badge for him. He'd abandoned Cameron at Rockland. He'd betrayed and deceived Kay. The three standing on this side of the door were vastly different than the person standing on the other. They were polar opposites. Jonathan had done nothing but help Gunter. They just couldn't relate. "A simple apology isn't going to cut it," she growled.

"Then maybe you should at least let him _start_ there," Gunter snapped.

Cameron had been staring down at his phone intently. But with this, he flinched and closed his eyes.

Dina scowled. "Look Cameron in the eye, Gunter." She was practically hissing through clenched teeth by this point. Gunter weakened, but only in the tiniest way. She noticed it all the same. "Look him in the _eye_ and you tell him all the reasons he should listen to what Jonathan has to say." Cameron looked up, already ready to shut the situation down because it was ridiculous. Because it was unnecessary. Because his chest was tightening. But he realized that Gunter wasn't looking at him. He was only staring a hole through Dina, his jaw locked back. Her eyes flashed in grim satisfaction. "That's what I thought." Silence followed her words, and she shook her head, looking away from him. "I think you should leave." The words were much too hard to let this be anything more than a demand.

Gunter kept staring at her. Again, like he wanted to say something. But he couldn't. His eyes flickered to Cameron, but he couldn't manage to look at him for very long, it seemed. He ducked his head and started to turn. He would have started back, had Cameron not spoken up. "Wait." Gunter froze and. Kay and Dina looked at him with clear concern. But he just pocketed his phone and started to make for the hall. "Wait," he repeated, before he broke away from the others. He walked back the way he'd come this morning, and retraced his steps to Jonathan's room. He pushed his way inside and found the thing he was searching for. He picked it up with a heavy heart and didn't linger.

He went back to the others, his footsteps much too loud in the overwhelming quiet. He extended the phone to Gunter, his expression pained. "Here," he offered, a little stiffly. Gunter seemed surprised. Cameron tried not to notice. "He should have his," he mumbled. They'd kept the device, all this time. They'd kept paying the bills because they'd known he'd be out shortly and he'd want his cellphone waiting for him. Up to now, it's been sitting on his desk untouched. Once Gunter took it, Cameron stepped away. He looked despairingly at his friend for what felt like hours but should have only been a couple seconds. Gunter started to open his mouth to say something. Cameron almost said something, too.

But it fell away from him.

He just turned, ripping himself away and hunching his shoulders as he went back to the kitchen.

He heard Kay turn and follow him. He heard Dina's voice, but she was speaking too low for him to make out the words. He didn't know what she said to Gunter.

Maybe it was better that he didn't.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He had three missed calls. Four, counting the one he was currently watching ring itself out. His chest felt empty as he looked at the contact name. In the past, of course, he'd never been able to just label the contact as 'Jonathan.' Just to be safe, he had him as something obscure. Additionally, to be safe but _also_ justto annoy Jonathan, he changed it quite frequently. Once, his contact had been Samantha. Another time it was Blackbeard The Pirate (But NOT the Fun One). Another time, he'd been Hobo Outside Applebee's. When he'd gotten his phone back, the contact name still there was Pistol Pete. He remembered how he'd shoved it in Jonathan's face, like he always had, dying of laughter from his own antics. Jonathan had rolled his eyes and shoved him away, fighting a grin himself.

He couldn't bring himself to see it. So, finally, for the first time...he just put down his name.

There wasn't a point in anything else, anymore.

He watched it ring out, cementing that fourth time. The missed call joined the others.

"What do you want to do?" Kay asked softly. A question that was becoming more and more common, in the effort to try and encourage him to see that it was important. To remember.

He was resting his head down on the table. She was sitting across from him. Up to the question being asked, the room's only noise had been the buzzing of the device against the wood tabletop. "Is 'nothing' an option?" he sighed.

"It can be."

He was silent with this. But his expression weakened. "It's just…hard. I don't…I know he wants to…but I don't…" He huffed, trying to bite down on his frustration. Kay softened with pain. But she allowed him the time to collect himself, which he did after some time. He exhaled slowly, and picked his head back up. He looked at her, and the expression on his face was something akin to exhaustion. Somewhere between extreme fatigue and confusion. "I just…keep trying to…think of how I would feel. If the roles were switched. If _I_ had left him, and come back, and…and _I_ just wanted to make things right, but wasn't sure… _how_ …"

He grimaced. "I would want to see him too. I would want to make it up to him too. If he turned me away…and if I never got the chance…I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I would do anything to make it up to him. For the _chance_ to, anyway. If I was him…I'd want the chance." He stared back down at the phone, as if he was worried it would start ringing again. Which it might. His voice dropped in volume even more. "So, shouldn't I give him the chance _I_ would want?" Kay didn't answer; she only kept staring at him. So, he looked back up at her, practically pleading for an answer. _He_ certainly didn't have one. "Isn't it… _unfair_ of me? If I don't?"

She took her time with this question. She considered it and weighed it, and her expression only grew heavier as she did. "It's not fair for you to think like that," she reasoned eventually, and Cameron wilted. "You never would have done anything like this in the first place."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She was walking down the hall when she heard it. A tiny, soft sound, barely audible. Kay had just gotten to the Archive from work. Dina had been in the kitchen trying to figure out what was possible to make for dinner, and Cameron had been nowhere to be found. When Kay had asked where he was, Dina admitted she wasn't sure. The last time she'd seen him had been about an hour ago, she'd said. But she knew he hadn't left— and why would he, anyway? There were only a couple real places he could be found. He wasn't on the couch, and he wasn't in Jonathan's room, so she'd started for his room as the last resort. And the closer she got the door, the louder the sound became. The more she could actually discern what it was.

She stopped right before she could make to the doorway. She hesitated, where she couldn't be seen. She ducked her head and studied the floor, her heart growing heavy as she just listened. "I'm...out. Kay got— me out. I tried to—stay, f'r you, but, but I—" She stiffened, crossing her arms over her chest. She found herself biting down hard on her lower lip as she listened to the slurred and choked voice struggle on. "I couldn't…I couldn't, I— I messed up. And they—" She could hear a buzz of other activity in the background, nearly swallowing the tiny voice. Making it seem even smaller than it already was. "Please t'll me you're comin' back. Please come back home…I'll…won't even talk to you, if you don' want, I just…want you to be happy…"

She dared to lean out, so she could peer around the very edge of the doorframe. Cameron was sitting on the bed, his expression bleak and empty as he stared down at the phone that was resting on the mattress. His phone— the one that Jonathan had had. The one he'd called. He was listening to the saved voicemail, absolutely hollow and empty. But despite the blankness on his face, she could see the tears he was barely holding back. Kay continued to listen, but the next few sentences were enough to make her want to get sick right on the spot. "'M a…horrible person," Cameron was choking. "I…deserved it…but please…don' be out there. With her. Please…have a plan, 'cause if you don't, then I—" Cameron ducked his head, closing his eyes in a cringe. Still, he let the recording keep playing.

"S'ry," it continued. "They— broke m' hand…I was…tryin' to get them off, but…they held me down, 'nd I couldn' breathe, I…" There was a long pause, in which it sounded like he was struggling to even breathe in that moment. Like he was choking on sobs, struggling to try and keep them back. There was a small whimper, a sharp gasp, before: "S'ry…'m so s'ry, 'm…" And then nothing. The mumbled rush of apologies was cut off mid-regret, and all that was left in its wake was silence. Cameron kept his head ducked, his eyes closed. He didn't reach for the phone or do anything at all but just sit there.

She wasn't sure whether or not she should give herself away. But seeing Cameron like that, she found herself too worried about where he was letting his thoughts go. Her stare was heavy, and her footsteps seemed much too loud as she started forward into the room. Cameron's eyes opened, but he said nothing. Suddenly he seemed so tired, so beaten-down. Kay sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked at the phone as well, but her attention was fixated on him. She allowed a long moment, before: "Are you okay?"

Cameron stayed silent and still for a very long time. Eventually he sighed and murmured: "No." Being truthful, at the very least. He tried to explain himself, but the order was a tall one. "I…I just want to…" He hesitated. Inhaled quickly and tried: "I want to _make_ …" Apparently that wouldn't work either. Frustration was building on his face as he closed his eyes again. He grimaced. "I don't know what to _do_ ," he said weakly. Kay deflated. "He…wants to…and I mean—" He gasped in again, trying to force out as much as he could. "I mean, he didn't… _know,_ he wasn't…it can't… _I_ can't…"

Kay studied him, allowing him as much time as he needed. As many backtracks as he wanted. Because there were so many things now that couldn't be redone, so she might as well give him this.

Cameron closed his eyes tightly. He took in a more controlled, slower breath this time. "I lost… _so much_ ," he choked out, with obscene difficulty. Kay's expression became wrought with pain, and only became even more so at the look she saw on his face. He swallowed hard and shook his head, opening his eyes again but just looking at the phone. Maybe he found it easier. He tended to hide his face from her whenever he was saying something extremely difficult.

"I lost so much," he repeated hollowly. "...I don't want to lose my brother, too."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Holidays are great in theory. Yeah, you get Christmas, with presents and Santa and all that jazz. And let's not forget the favorite aspect: the same three songs played over and over again on the radio so relentlessly you could sing them in your sleep (except for The Christmas Shoes, because you always turn off the radio as soon as that one comes on). You wait for ages, and you plan and you prepare, and you have your advent calendar counting down the days that are left, and you sweep your living room every single day, somehow always drowning in pine needles anyway. You're excited— of course you are! But then Christmas actually _comes_ , and the family's here, and your uncle informs your three-year-old sister that Santa actually _doesn't_ exist, which makes your mom angry enough to throw the entire tree and stab him through with the star on top, and now everyone's fighting, and your cousin is crying, and your grandma is literally forcing _another_ cookie down your throat, and you find yourself wondering whether or not it would be a good idea to convert religions, purely so you can avoid this entire mess.

Or Thanksgiving— that's a good one too. You get the excuse to gorge yourself almost all the way to combustion without any kind of blame…that's every person's dream, right!? But then you _get there,_ and you sit down, and suddenly here comes Aunt Susan sweeping in demanding how you've been, how school is going, why you still aren't dating anyone, why you're on the political side that you're on, explaining why global warming simply doesn't exist, talking about how great she's felt since she became a vegetarian and why can't you do the same thing, and all you can do is just sit there and stare, thinking maybe cranberry sauce isn't really worth it.

The end point is…family kind of has a way of ruining things. Even great things like holidays. It's a fact you learn quick. You forget it less and less the more you experience it, and eventually, the older you get and the more you understand, the more you try to brace yourself in preparation. When family comes around, you come to know you have to build up your walls and scrape together a _lot_ of patience so that if there _is_ a blow-up, it is much more delayed and much less severe. The entire house ends up getting tense. You kind of _feel_ the oncoming frustration, even before it happens. It's like the entire room gets pressurized, and you can bet that the pressure only gets worse as time goes on.

Now take _that_ pressure, and multiply it by one million two hundred forty-seven thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine.

That was how it felt right now.

All day it had been tense. The air was thick enough to walk on. At first, they'd attempted to get through it by keeping up distracting conversation. But as the sun started to sink and as the hour grew nearer, the conversation died off, until there was just silence. Only concerned looks, or worried glances between Kay and Dina. Resolutely, Cameron was doing his best to refuse the whole thing. He was attempting to act like nothing was wrong. Why stop now? The only hint he gave towards the discomfort and fear that was eating him away on the inside was the barely-noticeable strain in his expression, shoved to the far back in the hopes nobody else would see. That, and his silence. And the fact he was staring at the door, not even blinking.

Kay and Dina were standing in the kitchen, looking at Cameron with open concern, since his back was to them. They were silent as well, but it was only because everything they had to say, Cameron wasn't willing to entertain. They knew this, by now. They had tried to change his mind. Or…not _change_ it, because it was up to him. Everything was ultimately up to him. But they had been wary of the idea the moment Cameron had come out yesterday morning and declared it was what was going to happen. They'd told him he didn't have to if he didn't want to…that if he needed more time, it was perfectly understandable. Cameron hadn't listened. He'd only gone to make the phone call.

Any minute, and Jonathan was going to be at the door. Not to stay, and not accompanied by anyone else. It was just him, and he was only coming over for dinner. Dina and Kay were in silent agreement that the second the meal was through, they were kicking him right back out the door. They'd agreed in the first place because Cameron had been so earnest, and so sure that dinner couldn't possibly be too far a step. So, dinner was what it was restricted to.

The two women had agreed together – and the agreement was only solidified in the looks they were exchanging now – that they didn't want any part in this at all. That if it were up to them, he would be barred from the house indefinitely. Dina's expression was more torn, and more pained. Her eyes were raw whenever they flickered back to Cameron, and Kay could practically see the grimace she was trying to stuff away. Kay's expression was entirely different. She was stiff, and rigid. More than positive. Every so often she would shift from foot to foot, and her arms were crossed tightly over her chest. She was already gritting her teeth, already locking her jaw back. Already angry; already struggling to keep it in check.

She'd kept her feelings away from Cameron. As best she could, anyway. Because she knew how important this was to him. She knew how torn he was, but she also knew how much he wanted things to be back to the way they were. She'd seen him grow more and more stressed with every missed phone call from his brother, and at night she'd felt his sorrow and regret like a heavy blanket over them. When he had told her this was what he wanted to do, it had only taken her a moment to put a smile on her face and reply with a simple 'Okay.'

She was telling herself that it would be fine. Cameron needed closure, and if this was the type of closure he wanted, she couldn't hold him back from it. The request had been clear in the look on his face. He was asking her to be with him on this, like she'd been with him on everything else before now. She couldn't possibly disappoint him.

The silence was broken when there was a knock at the door. Dina closed her eyes in something much too close to a flinch. Like the sound had slapped her across the face. Kay took in a slow breath, trying to make sure it was even. She forced her arms to go back to her sides. She only looked at Cameron, who didn't move at first. He just kept staring. But it was only a couple of seconds before he was shaking himself and going towards it. Kay pushed off the counter she was leaning against and trailed after, and Dina kept right by her side. The two of them hovered behind Cameron anxiously as he opened the door and all three were met with the familiar face that, in a way, none of them wanted to see.

The instant he saw Cameron, there was a battle in reactions from Jonathan. At first there was shock. As if, up until this very moment, he wasn't sure he would actually be there, or actually open the door. Then there was happiness— a pleasant kind of surprise, and Kay's anger flared more when she caught this change. It made her remember the last time he had actually seen Cameron, and the state that Cameron had been in. He was so much better now, in comparison. He wasn't as wasted away, he wasn't as weak. He was actually standing and functioning without help, and that came as a _surprise_ to Jonathan. He was _shocked._

The detail was tiny. But it set her blood boiling at once. She bit her tongue.

Then there was uncertainty. His smile wavered just a little bit as he looked at his brother. Awkwardness was stifling between them, where it had never been before. "Hey, Cam," he murmured, and Kay was almost certain that Cameron stiffened at the nickname. Jonathan's expression was going soft with relief. Was it relief on Cameron's behalf, that he was better? Or was it relief for himself, that he was being let off the hook for all that he'd done? Kay scowled, but she still stayed silent. Remembering the look on Cameron's face when he'd pleaded with her to let him try this. "It's really good to see you…"

A few seconds of silence followed the sentiment, in which Cameron must not have known what to say. But he dragged himself out of it, and he stepped aside to let him in. "Yeah, it's…good to see you, too." Jonathan hesitated before he stepped over the threshold. When he did, he noticed Dina and Kay for the first time, and his face fell. His eyes went to Dina's first, and with the unexpected attention, she wasn't as able to keep herself in line. Her controlled expression broke, and she wilted, that pain coming back over her face as she looked at the person she had once called a friend and even something more. Someone who had not only betrayed her twice, but had betrayed Cameron so irrevocably.

She wasn't able to hold his stare for very long. She turned away and headed back for the oven, to the dinner she was still in the process of making. Jonathan's eyes were left to go to Kay. She stared stonily right back at him, completely expressionless. Jonathan's shoulders squared, and he pressed his lips together tightly, a million different things seeming to pass through his head. She didn't offer him a hello, or even a smile. What she did do, was narrow her eyes at him the tiniest fraction. Hardly anything. Just enough to let him know that this hadn't been her idea. And the very _instant_ that something went wrong, he was going to be paying for it.

He was quick to look away. He turned back to Cameron, instead, as he shut the door. He regained his smile, and Kay wiped her face clean as she just took back to watching carefully. She was trying to notice every little thing— even the tiniest sense of distress. Unfortunately, she was well-versed in Cameron's warning signs. But for now, he was only a little stiff. He met Jonathan's smile reluctantly. But he said nothing, so, in the attempt to clog something into the silence before it could get _too_ noticeable, Jonathan took the job. "You look a lot better." He hesitated, before he asked: "Are you...doing okay?"

Immediately Kay went rigid, alarm rushing through her. She looked quickly between the pair, and then down at the floor. In the middle of everything, she'd almost forgotten her slip-up to Jonathan. She still hadn't told Cameron yet. How do you find the words to explain that to someone? To tell them that you took away their decision to disclose something so horrible? It was only occurring to her just now that she should have told Cameron before Jonathan came. Hearing it from her was marginally better than hearing it from him. Guilt was wrapping hard around her throat. Her heart was quick to start ramming against her ribcage.

Cameron's reply was soft, and stiffer than usual. "I'm fine."

She looked back up, and her fingers curled down more into her arms. Cameron wasn't paying attention— he was plenty distracted all on his own as he turned and started in for the kitchen. Jonathan had looked after him at first, but now he'd turned, and Kay was surprised to see him actually looking at her. The expression on his face grew sickened, the very second Cameron had turned his back. Kay could see the pain and regret and guilt like it was glowing neon. Their eyes locked, and she knew he was remembering their last interaction just as clearly as she was.

Jonathan glanced back towards Cameron. Dina had been waiting in the kitchen, and the second he was close to her, she was turning and murmuring something to him. Neither of them could hear it from where they were, but Cameron ducked his head a little bit, and she reached out to touch his arm comfortingly. Jonathan's eyes flashed at this, but he turned back to Kay and took the moment to walk over to her. Her eyes narrowed again when he did; she had half a mind to turn away before he got the chance to get close. Though she kept herself in line enough not to do that, she couldn't manage to hide the way she stiffened more and more as their distance was closed.

He still had that same pained look on his face. Instead of giving her satisfaction, it just turned her stomach to see. With each step he took towards her, she remembered every single panic attack Cameron had had, every single sleepless night, every single untouched meal, every single flinch from something seemingly small. He came as close as he dared— there was a couple feet between them. And he looked at her despairingly, unsure of what to say. Kay kept her arms crossed, her expression stony. Eventually he managed to get out a small rasp. "Kay, I…never…apologized. Really. To you."

He kept his voice low, just in case Dina and Cameron's conversation would end before theirs. They were still by the door, far removed. Still, Kay was worried Cameron would hear every word. "It was…I…wasn't…thinking…" If he had words prepared, they were all turning to dust in the moment. He was just reverting back to the canned attempt he'd had before. The one that Kay had already listened to and had deemed useless.

"It seems like pulling off a plan of that caliber would take _a whole lot_ of thinking, Jonathan." Her words were absolutely scathing, matching her stare. Jonathan blinked, jerking backwards a little. He opened his mouth as if to say anything, but nothing came out, initially. Because there just wasn't anything to say. Kay watched in growing disappointment as he closed his mouth and ducked his head, trying to regather himself.

She hated just the _sight_ of him. It turned her stomach to see him, and to know now that he was free. That this entire situation had played itself out, and the only person with lasting repercussions now was Cameron— who hadn't even done anything. Who, from the very beginning, had just been trying to make things right. They were identical— carbon copies of the other. But seeing them together, side-by-side, Cameron looked so much _smaller_ than him. So much _tinier._ Because, thanks to Jonathan, so much of himself had been stripped away.

Jonathan took in a slow breath and he forced himself to look back up at her. Silently, she was _daring_ him to fight her, or try to defend himself. But he didn't. When he spoke, it was about something else entirely. "I didn't tell him," he whispered. Kay shifted her weight and crossed her arms even tighter, but she didn't speak. He was looking at her more earnestly now. "I won't tell him what you—"

He choked on it. It reminded her of the nights she woke up to Cameron fighting for air, either because he was strangling himself or just somehow under the impression breathing was impossible and turning pale all on his own. It was one of the more common ways for her to jar awake. Next to hearing him screaming, or feeling him tense or twist in her arms. Horrible it is to acknowledge, it was always an easier problem to fix when his hands were around his neck. Then, all she had to do was yank them away. Let him _see_ the pressure being _physically removed_. Whenever she woke up to him just choking on his own, it was always more painful.

Her eyes would snap open and she would freeze in panic the moment she'd register his weak gagging, his pale color. She would shift her hold and pull him close and run a hand along the side of his face desperately to wake him up. But even when his eyes would open his lungs would still refuse to work— he would still be trapped in the mentality that breathing wasn't an option. Though she'd done it many times, she was always just as scared whenever it happened. Whenever she had to move his face so that he could maybe see her, how she had to stroke his cheek and lean in close and try to soothe him, and make him understand there was nothing keeping him from breathing. "Cameron, you're okay— there's nothing wrong, you can breathe, just breathe, calm down, you're okay! Breathe!" Sometimes it didn't take long at all for him to realize. Sometimes it took twenty full seconds to finally be able to suck in his first gasp of air. Whatever the length of time, the same look was always on his face as he stared at her, and by now it was burned into her mind. How blank with terror he was, how panicked he grew when he couldn't make his lungs actually work, how his eyes were unnaturally bright with tears.

How tortured he was.

All of this flashed in her mind in less than an instant, at Jonathan's tiniest choke. That remnant of fear and sorrow curled like a tight ball in her chest. Her scowl deepened. He saw this, but tried to go on anyway. "I didn't tell him," he revised a little lamely. With the amount of pain on his face, one would think he was being stabbed. "I…won't tell him. I'll…if he…wants to tell me, I'll…" Kay watched as he ducked away again, like a turtle that wasn't sure whether or not it was safe to come out of its shell. It was just darting in and out, because it simply didn't know. He reached up and rubbed at his forehead. His voice was weaker, and she saw that his eyes were growing shiny with tears. He coughed in the back of his throat and ended weakly: "If he wants to tell me, he will. But I won't tell him anything else."

Kay was silent at first. She glanced down at the ground, and then she turned to look over her shoulder, to where Cameron was. He was still talking with Dina— she still seemed concerned, maybe even more so now. Cameron's shoulders were hunched; he was shaking his head and trying to step away from her. Tension was radiating off of him already in waves. All day, he'd been visibly trying to hold himself together. The thought of it already falling away from him was awful.

She weakened. She didn't know whether to feel horrible because she'd let it slip in the first place, or enraged at Jonathan for the fact he'd created the entire situation as it was. Why hadn't he just trusted Cameron? Why hadn't she just kept her mouth shut? Why had he left him there? Why hadn't she _known_ it wasn't Cameron she talked to— why hadn't she gotten to him faster? Why didn't _Jonathan_ come back faster?

Who did she blame more, for all of this?

She looked back, and the whisper left her mouth before she could stop herself. "Am I supposed to say thank you?" The question was hollow. Jonathan said nothing, but the pain that broke out over his face said enough. Kay just wasn't in the mood to listen. She turned, finding herself too sick to keep looking at not only the reason for all this mess, but at the person who now stood as a visual reminder of the way Cameron had been before. When she looked back at him and saw all the details Jonathan did not share – the thin frame, the hunched shoulders, the bruised skin, the dull look in his eyes – she found the pain even more acute.

But she ignored it. Just like she was ignoring her repulsion towards Jonathan, she was ignoring this as well, and her anger immediately dissipated when Cameron turned to look at her. She could see the anxiety on his face, worse now after whatever Dina had pulled him aside with. He looked at Kay and she saw a muted form of the panic he had whenever he woke up unable to breathe, or shoving himself away from her. She saw how much it was taking for him to keep himself calm and do this, but she could also see the silent plead in his eyes for her to help. For her to be there, even though he must know full well her opinion on the matter.

He needed her. So she ignored it. And she smiled kindly, shoving down her anger and simply walking back to his side, where she was determined to stay, despite everything else.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Conversation was sparse. In hindsight, they should have been prepared for the tension. And maybe in a way they were, but at the same time it was difficult to properly imagine just how severe it would be. Was. The air was near painful just to breathe around. Nobody really looked at each other for longer than a couple of seconds. Save for Dina and Kay, who would swap nervous and wary glances every so often. They shared it all. Concern that this was doing more harm than good. Fear that this would set Cameron back somehow, when so much progress had been made. Pain that they had no choice but to smile and be cordial to the man that had ruined everything and had done so much, just because Cameron had asked them to.

Dina's expression was rawer. Her smiles were flimsier, her voice was duller. Kay wasn't offering much in terms of conversation, because Jonathan wasn't even looking at her anymore. Probably because he couldn't. But he tried with Dina. He'd smiled at her, and he'd said hello, and he'd asked how she was doing. She couldn't ignore him. But Kay could see the pain it inflicted. She knew they had a larger history, a more complicated one. She knew Dina's feelings towards him weren't nearly as black-and-white as hers were. She knew that no matter how deep this was cutting into her, the pain was tenfold for Dina. Currently she was absorbing herself in cooking. Her expression was pulled. Her shoulders were hunched.

Cameron was sitting by Jonathan, studying the wood grain of the table. Jonathan was glancing at him what seemed like every other second. A couple times he opened his mouth like he was going to speak, but he was always taking it back. Looking away again with a hint of a grimace. Kay was standing nearer to Dina, her arms crossed like she was cold. She wasn't even really trying to disguise the hard look she was shooting Jonathan. Not when Cameron wasn't paying attention. Purposefully, Jonathan kept his eyes averted from her. Though the subtle shift every so often in his chair showed he was painfully aware regardless.

Cameron was messing with his sleeves, tugging them down over his hands and back again only to repeat the process. He was wearing a hoodie, a look that Kay had never seen him in before all this, and yet now, seven out of ten days he was sporting. She knew why he chose them. And she knew it was just easier. He hardly even fixed his hair anymore— going to the trouble of dressing to the nines like he usually did was long gone. Another painfully obvious fact, when put by Jonathan's side.

Eventually, he took in a breath that was a bit quicker than normal. He straightened up and blinked rapidly, like he was shaking himself out of a stupor. Snapping at himself to knock it off, which Kay regrettably knew was probably the case. "So." It was painful how Jonathan immediately stiffened and looked at him. With surprise, relief, guilt, happiness— the look he had was pathetic. Luckily, Cameron had still been looking at the table. By the time he picked his head back up, everything was wiped clean. He lifted his lips into a smile – the expression ending there – as he asked: "How have you been?" Kay looked away, sticking her tongue hard into her cheek. "How's…freedom treating you?"

Jonathan paused for a moment, not reacting at all as he just stared at his brother. But then he smiled, and laughed a little bit, ducking his head and clearing his throat. "It's…it's fine." Cameron smiled a little more. There was pain behind the grin. A kind of relief that was hard to really distinguish. "I mean I haven't…done too much," Jonathan kept going awkwardly. He laughed again, only because he was trying to fill up the empty space between them. "It's kind of…funny how…similar it is. I just…sit. Without too much to do." He was trying to joke, because Cameron wasn't able to fulfill the role like he normally did. It didn't suit him. "Time goes by just as slow."

Cameron's eyes flashed. He looked back down at the table. "Yeah." The word came out hollow.

Jonathan's face fell. For a moment, the entire place was swallowed in silence again. Jonathan tried to break it— tried to keep his voice light, still. "You know…it's a good thing you aren't cooking." Cameron roused, looking at him with a tiny frown. Jonathan smiled. "You, uh…you remember that time you got it in your head you could bake? Well, not _just_ bake— you thought you could make those...three, four-tiered cakes." It took a second, but Cameron retrieved the memory. He began to crack into a smile, and this time, it was more genuine. In effect, Jonathan's smile turned into a beam. "I _told_ you not to do it; I told you you'd need at least a little bit of practice before you went all out, but you never listen to me." He threw a hand out in exasperation. "You almost burned the entire building down."

Cameron's grin grew even more. A ghost of laughter was hiding behind his reply. "I _did not._ I actually did pretty decently for someone who's never made a cake before in their entire life." Jonathan snickered, shaking his head, and Cameron straightened, his voice starting to squeak, like it always did whenever it raised octaves. "No, it _was_ impressive! I had the four cakes! I _had_ the four things! It was all there!"

"Is that your version of success? The bare minimum?" Jonathan demanded. "They all looked different, your fondant looked like it had gone through a _shredder_ , and you dumped _five_ tubs of frosting on it! It looked horrible. Don't even get me started on the taste. You almost sent Jordan to the hospital."

Cameron sat back, flashing him a mocking glare. "You are not giving me credit where credit is due."

"And then there was the time you started the grease fire and thought water was the best way to put it out."

" _Okay_ the grease fire wasn't my fault, and _why_ wouldn't water put it out? It wasn't _wrong_ of me."

"Literally everyone understands you can't put out a grease fire with water," Jonathan flashed. "I knew that when I was seven."

"That's just false, because I was with you the entire time you were seven, so I would have heard the lesson too," he refuted.

" _Please,_ you never listened to anyone," Jonathan dismissed. " _Especially_ when we were kids. Sometimes I'd just _sneak_ random phrases into conversations to test if you were listening and you never even realized." Cameron snorted. Kay was watching the exchange tensely; she turned to Dina to see that her friend had stopped hunching over the stove. She was looking back, but she wasn't looking back at Kay. This time, she was just staring at the two of them. The expression she wore was unbelievably pained. Agonized, almost. But there was also happiness, at the same time, deep below the surface...getting stronger.

Kay's stomach dropped as she realized her eyes were welling up with tears. They were watering more and more as Cameron kept laughing. As he began to get more comfortable, as his smile grew as he looked at his brother. As they almost looked like their old selves. "I'm serious!" Jonathan blustered. "One time I literally looked right at you and said I was going sprout wings and fly to Russia while you were asleep, and you just nodded. I'm not even _talking_ about when me or Dad asked you to do something and the soonest you'd do it would be four hours later— that's an entirely separate issue."

For the tiniest of seconds, Cameron's smile faltered. Kay stiffened at once, picking up on the tiny, barely-there change. So small Jonathan didn't even really realize it was there. But she saw his wilt, she saw his small double-take. She saw that look he'd get on his face whenever he was dragged back into some thought process she couldn't even begin to understand. It was there, and it was clouding forward, and she started to push herself off the counter to intervene.

When all of a sudden it was gone in just a quick a flash as it had come. Kay stopped short as he started laughing again, brightening right back up. "Well that's just because nobody tells me what to do," he quipped. Jonathan rolled his eyes, and he snickered again. "Anyway, you're one to talk— you were always crabby." She wilted, slowly and reluctantly leaning back again. Her frown stayed worried on her face. "You'd complain about every little thing— the second someone asked _you_ to do something, it was like the entire world ended. You remember that time you hid for an entire _day_ because you didn't want to do the dishes?"

"It's not my fault you _suck_ at finding things, Cam." The nickname was overlaid with overt, uncharacteristic affection.

"Well, it's not my fault you suck as a human being in general," he threw back cheekily. His eyes were sparkling; this was the longest he had kept this beam on his face. The longest he'd laughed as he started all over again when Jonathan did. The two were entirely in their own little world, separated now from Dina and Kay. Laughing and teasing and not even registering anything else. Kay's face slowly began to fall, uncertainty and wariness overwhelming her now as she watched the two of them together. At how happy Cameron was. At how his voice almost sounded normal, if you ignored the way it squeaked on every other word. At the _happiness_ that was there. The _relief,_ the _normalcy_. So quickly gained because he'd been so starved of it.

Kay turned and looked at Dina again, trying to find at least a _sense_ of her shared hesitation.

But Dina was still just watching them. Still smiling wide with happiness and sorrow, so mingled together it was impossible to tell which was more prominent. If one was _even_ more prominent. Jonathan was recalling the time Cameron had been adamant that he could stack ten plates on his head and balance up high at the same time. Cameron was immediately pointing out that he _had_ done it, and if Jonathan hadn't _pushed_ him, he could have stayed there as long as he wanted. To which Jonathan cried that he was five full feet away from him and could in no way have caused the failure.

Dina watched them banter back and forth. Watched them grin and snicker and be _together._ When one of her tears fell, she stiffened and immediately swiped it away, shaking herself and turning back to the stove. But Kay had seen it all the same. And it made her feel even hollower when she turned back to Cameron.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"We're _not_ playing Slapjack."

"Why in the _world_ can't we play Slapjack?"

" _Because,_ Cameron— you always just _slap every single card!_ You don't play it right!"

"I don't like your tone," he snapped, but there was no hiding the smile that was on his face. His eyes were fostering their glow again. He had a little bit of his old demeanor back— his excitement, like he was already wanting to rush to the next thing. Kay remembered it always used to bug her: how ecstatic he was over everything, and how it always seemed like he was barely keeping a lid on his eagerness, even over the something tiny. Once they'd been walking through the park looking for a suspect, and Cameron had suddenly gasped so loud it caused her to start to reach for her gun— she'd stopped once he took off running for the dog that was being walked past them. Back then she thought it was annoying. She'd roll her eyes at the giddy look he'd get. Seeing it now, not all the way back but the closest yet, brought so much relief that it hurt to see.

That smile was back, that _light_ was back, and yet...

"What about Crazy Eights?" Her smile died as her eyes flickered back to Jonathan. He was smiling, too. Matching Cameron's grin perfectly. Identically.

"We can't play Crazy Eights, _you_ always cheat and put down more than one card," Cameron snapped.

"Both of you are terrible!" The two of them looked at Dina as she announced this, grinning. Her eyes were softer than they were before. Though she hadn't been talking nearly as much as Cameron had, and though she wasn't nearly as ecstatic as he was, she had thawed slowly over dinner, talking more and more as the night went on. She'd stopped glancing worriedly at Kay. Kay tried not to feel put out by this. Old habits died hard, and this was a habit much more engrained than what was happening right now. She could see it on her face: the nostalgia. The need – much like Cameron's own – to have this sense of family back. She wasn't all the way there. When Jonathan looked at her, and Cameron looked back down to cards, Dina's smile wavered just the tiniest bit. She seemed sadder, as she looked at him, and his expression turned a little sad as well. Something seemed to pass between them only they could make sense of.

But unlike Kay, Dina was able to shrug it off more. Kay would prefer to think it was just because Cameron had asked her to, and she was just better at hiding her real feelings than she was. But she knew better. "We need to play a game that takes no skill, obviously," Dina continued, and Cameron scoffed something along the lines of 'I have skill _everywhere.'_ Despite everything, Kay's expression turned fond when she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. For the moment it was here, she was savoring every bit of Cameron's spirit. "How about Chase the Ace?"

Kay had never heard of it, but obviously Cameron had. He gasped and slammed his good hand on the table, his eyes going wide. _"Yes!"_ It sounded like he won the lottery. Jonathan hung his head and snickered, and Cameron sat back in his chair happily. "We haven't played that in _forever_."

"What's Chase the Ace?" Kay asked.

Cameron looked at her like she'd asked what the FBI was. "You've never played Chase the Ace!?" he squeaked. Her expression softened as she made a show of resting her head down on her hand and looking at him expectantly. He grinned and gestured around their tiny group. "The goal of the game is to screw over the person sitting next to you, basically. Everyone gets dealt a card and you don't want an ace because that's an automatic lose. And you don't want a low number in general. So, if you don't like your card, and you think it might be the lowest in the group, you can switch with the person to your left. And it just goes in a circle one time through. _I_ always win," he chirped. "And we always play for money."

"Everyone just gets _three quarters_ ," Jonathan huffed.

"That means I can buy three things at the dollar store by the time it's over," Cameron pointed out. He was still fiddling with the deck in his hands. He'd taken the brace off of his injured one for the time being. Usually he kept it on just because it was easier, and it made it ache less. By now, the fracture was near healed. But it certainly wasn't as strong as the other hand. He'd tried deck shooting the other morning, and the cards had gone everywhere. He'd looked at the mess in despairing frustration. None of that was seen now. He was perfectly content.

Dina left to scrounge up some quarters. Jonathan held out a hand. "Here, give me the deck."

Cameron jerked, his eyes going wide. His hand slipped, and he nearly dropped the every one of them. Luckily, he saved them just before it could happen. But the look on his face was getting Kay to sit up stiffly and lean towards him a little bit. "What?" he asked, like he didn't even know what they were talking about anymore. He hesitated before he turned and looked at him. His brother had frozen just like Kay had. His eyebrows were knitting together with worry and confusion. Cameron asked again, blankly: "...What'd you say?"

Jonathan looked from him to the cards, frowning. "The _deck_ ," he repeated, a little slower. Cameron blinked a few times, following his twin's gaze. He perked, but said nothing. "Give it to me; I can be the dealer."

Cameron was still blinking fast. But he was getting over whatever hurdle he'd suddenly slammed into. "Oh— yeah. Duh." He handed it over, and Jonathan took it slowly. He still looked at him with concern, and for a second it seemed like he was going to ask if everything was alright. But he thought better of it, and reluctantly began to shuffle. Cameron was wearing an odder, more artificial smile now. His eyes flickered to Kay. She wasn't even trying to pretend she wasn't paying attention to him. When he looked at her, she tilted her head just a little, the worry on her face asking the silent question: 'Are you okay?'

His smiler turned more fragile, and he just shook his head, as if to say, 'It's stupid, don't worry about it.' She started to try and say something, but he wasn't giving her the chance. He turned away on purpose. She saw that he was gripping his knees tightly— a bad habit of his. Her face fell even more. She was confused, as she looked at the cards that were now in Jonathan's hands, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. It was like staring at a math equation that was purposefully created to not have a logical answer.

Cameron piped up, his voice pumped thick with a happiness that seemed much faker. "We should play for more than just quarters."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

They should _not_ play for more than just quarters. Quarters was more than enough.

Anything else would surely be deadly.

Who knew a card game – especially a card game as repetitive and quick as this – could last for more than one hour. And yet here they were. It was going on eight at night by now, and if anyone poked their head in and witnessed what was currently happening, they would have thought the group was knee-deep in the most cutthroat game of poker that had ever existed. Dina's attempt at keeping up her guard had slipped more and more with every game, as she got caught up. She was smiling more, her voice was brighter, she was laughing along with them. She had a soft spot— for both of the Black twins. Somehow Jonathan was keeping his hold on her. Just like he'd kept his hold on her when he'd cheated, and yet coerced her into stealing Mike's badge for him. History seemed doomed to repeat itself.

Kay, on the other hand, was still silent. Not dampening the fun but not adding to it, either. She was merely a bystander. Someone for Cameron to look at every so often and get a tiny smile from, but that was it. A couple times she tried to relax along with them, but the effort put a bad taste in her mouth. She couldn't. Everyone else was happy just forgetting, at least for now, but she couldn't be the same. Jonathan was smiling, yes, and so was Cameron, and he was being nothing but nice to him. But there had been no apology. No sincere, heartfelt apology to Cameron's face. No taking of the blame that was rightfully his. Not a "This is why I did it, and why I felt like I had to" but a "I shouldn't have done it and there is absolutely no excuse."

Kay was waiting for that. Admittedly…even if he did get it, she still wasn't sure she'd be satisfied.

But at the bare minimum. It still wasn't there in the first place.

Jonathan was trying to take an eraser to something that was written down in pen.

"One, two, three!" At the count, they all revealed their cards. Kay had a six, Jonathan had a ten, Dina had a three, and Cameron had a two. Immediately, he whined, making a sound that was much too similar to what a pterodactyl had probably sounded like. Jonathan started laughing, and Cameron pointed at him accusingly. " _You_ shut up— _you're_ the one that gave me this stupid card! What am I supposed to do!?"

"You're supposed to put one of your quarters in the middle," Jonathan chirped. He was dancing one of his smugly in between his fingers; he still had all three of the ones he'd started with. Cameron scowled down at his remaining stash; he just had one left, after shoving this one into the middle pile as well. Not that it really mattered; they just kept reusing the same quarters so nobody had actually had any monetary gain. However, it was the principle of the thing. "Wow, Cam, you got _so_ bad at this game," he remarked, smirking.

Cameron threw his arms up in the air. _"Apparently!"_ He had only won one game out of all of them.

"You're a worse card player than you are a magician," Jonathan snickered.

"That is rude and uncalled for on a number of levels," he sighed in dramatic disappointment.

"Cameron wasn't the one that nearly ruined the entirety of Madison Square Garden, _Jonathan,"_ Dina interjected, throwing him a teasing look. Cameron declared a smug 'Aha!' that was almost lost against his throat. "If you want to point fingers, I would stand in front of a mirror first."

"Hey, that _wasn't my fault!"_ Kay had been watching the exchange in silence, but at Jonathan's cry, her eyes flashed, and she looked back down at the table. "That was entirely on Gunter, he just doesn't want to admit it! And it's not like anyone _noticed!_ It was perfectly fine! They had us _back_ , didn't they?"

"We _have_ to keep playing, I have to beat you," Cameron grumbled.

"You can't even beat _Dina."_

"Watch me."

Kay was dealer this round. She doled them out silently, and when she gave Jonathan his card, he purposefully didn't look at her. His smile wilted just a little bit. She tried not to notice. They all looked at their own cards. Cameron grinned and declared: "I'm going to keep mine."

Immediately, Jonathan announced: "I'm switching with Cam."

" _You—! No!"_ Cameron flew out, shoving Jonathan hard. Jonathan snorted, shoving him back, and they fell into a tussle, lashing out at the other. _"Let me have this one thing!"_ Cameron snapped, Jonathan curling away from him and laughing as his brother smacked him. _"I have so little! Just give me the freakin' quarters!"_ Jonathan snickered, but shoved his card in Cameron's face. Cameron squeaked again and just started pummeling him more, yelling: _"It's an_ ace!"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

This was a bad idea. The whole night was a bad idea, but _this_ was making it worse. She knew it was bad. She knew she wanted to stop it. She knew it would be _better_ for her to. But she couldn't. She just sat, and she just watched. Ever since the night Cameron had called her drunk from the bar, they'd done away with all the alcohol. It had been Dina's decision to. No more in the house, was what she'd said— it had been a safety precaution. But before too long, and she should have anticipated it coming, Jonathan had noticed, and in effect, Cameron had finally noticed as well. Before now, he'd been so preoccupied he hadn't even been able to do so. But when Jonathan asked if they had anything, he'd looked up, and he'd made a face, putting the pieces together.

Kay had expected Dina to side with her, and insist they didn't need to drag it all out. Dina had stashed everything away somewhere— it would be safer to throw it out, but it would also be a huge waste, and Kay had trusted Dina to know exactly where to put everything so Cameron couldn't get to it. So far it had more than worked. Now it was being brought up and Cameron was looking at the two of them expectantly as they flopped over how to answer. Kay was about to say it was all out, and that it was too late to go out and get any more. She was hoping Dina would take her side. Just to avoid potential issues.

And certainly, at the request, she'd seemed a little unsure. But Kay was left disappointed when Dina had spoken up and said she could get out a few bottles. There wasn't as much of a harm with it, in her eyes. They were all together, they were having a good time, and Cameron was going better in general anyway. It wasn't like they could always lock it away from him for the rest of his life. Doubly, she knew Kay would hover like she had been, and she would keep an eye on him. So, she'd gone to do just that. Going to whatever hiding hole she managed to have in this huge place that Cameron didn't know about and bring it back so they could sit and drink and talk.

Which led them to right now.

Kay was watching Cameron with open wariness. He was on his third drink— he needed to stop. He was eating more than he had been, but he still wasn't eating a _lot,_ or _enough._ The alcohol was going to his head more easily. But, still. She couldn't fight. She couldn't bright herself to do anything that would take away his brilliant smile. His beam. Not yet, anyway. Though she was keeping careful track of how much he was having.

They'd stopped playing cards a while ago— now they were just together. Enjoying one another's company. Cameron was on cloud nine as he laughed and talked with his brother. They were sitting closer together, and Cameron was relaxed, not stiff with anxiety anymore. He wasn't leaning away from him like he'd been at the start of the night— he was turned fully in his direction. There wasn't any amount of hindering at all in his expression or his attitude.

And Jonathan...Kay had never seen him so happy. She'd never seen him smile this much, or smile in this way. She'd never seen the amount of softness in his eyes whenever Cameron laughed or shoved him. Maybe Dina hadn't either— maybe it was just the relief of this respite that was fueling the overt affection. Whatever it was, it didn't sit right with her. To her, he didn't deserve to be wearing such an expression. Not yet, anyway.

The two of them were currently mixing up everything at their disposal, like they were chemists. It had started because Dina had announced she knew a good drink to make from what was available, and it had actually been very good. Jonathan had one-upped her with his own mixture, and Cameron had tried to one-up the both of them, but ended up making something completely horrible. Now, they were just making horrible drinks on purpose. Trying to out-do the other when it came to creating something vomit-inducing, and making a game of trying to get down the whole thing. It was Cameron's turn, and so far, he'd dumped sugar, salt, pepper, and mustard into a glass of straight vodka. He put it down in front of Jonathan like it was a magnificent prize, Jonathan hanging his head and closing his eyes with a look that clearly said: 'What did I do to deserve this?'

"Go!" Cameron snapped. "We don't have all night!"

"Okay fine," he huffed. He grabbed the glass and eyed it warily. Cameron was grinning from ear-to-ear, but he somehow managed to smile even more when Jonathan tried to take a drink and immediately jerked backwards, shaking his head fast. Cameron started practically crying with laughter, bending over at the waist. Jonathan's expression was so repulsed, it looked like he'd swallowed an entire lemon. "That's disgusting!" he snapped, putting the drink down and throwing a glare at Cameron, who was still cackling. "You win, that's gross. I can't drink that."

"Yeah you _can!"_ Cameron gasped, sitting back up. "You just do it _fast!"_ Jonathan shook his head again, and Cameron slammed his hand down on the table, throwing his head back. _"C'mon!_ You just _do it!_ You can't _think_ about it, that just makes it _worse!"_ Jonathan kept shaking his head, though, and Cameron groaned in disappointment. _"Weak!_ Lame— you're _so_ lame," he grumbled, slouching back in his chair.

Jonathan gestured invitingly. " _You_ do it, then!"

Cameron flashed him a look, then sat up straighter. He reached out and grabbed the cup and tried to take it like a shot. His expression pulled, like Jonathan's, but he choked it down anyway. Kay wilted, watching him with a heavy heart. He gagged afterwards, but he kept it down. He shook himself, and smiled; though his grins were just as big, they were sloppier and fuzzier, now. Kay couldn't find as much relief in them. _"Ha!"_ he declared, smugly. " _Now_ who's the _bitch!?"_

Kay frowned, looking at him oddly.

" _What!?"_ Jonathan cried, barely able to get the yell out, he was laughing so much. "I never _called_ you that!"

Cameron's eyebrows rose. He sat back heavily again and made a face, rolling his eyes. He ignored Kay's look, if he even noticed it in the first place. He just scoffed underneath his breath, like he was skeptical. _"Okay."_

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

"Hey." It was getting later. It was almost midnight, by now. Bit by bit, going unnoticed in the thick of conversation and merriment, Kay had been putting the alcohol away one bottle at a time. None of the others were paying enough attention to call her out on it, if they cared. Dina had changed seats; now, she was sitting at Jonathan's side, so, in her words of course, she could hear him better. The three were so invested in each other that Kay could have been a ghost. She kind of felt that way. But she didn't want to be all that involved in the first place, so she was willing to take it. They'd had enough anyway. Cameron especially.

Jonathan had been the one to pipe up. Dina had just finished telling a story Kay hadn't listened to. It most likely had been something about the past. It was all reminiscing, simply because that helped them pretend nothing was wrong right now. There had been a tiny period of silence following the memory, and the silence was what spurred him on. His voice was a little sloppy. Cameron was tucked into himself, perched on the chair with his legs drawn up to his chest and his arms pressed into his stomach. His head was on his knees, his shoulders a little curled, like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. He roused at once at this, though. He turned, his blinks a little groggy. "Hm?"

Jonathan leaned on the table, looking at his brother with an expression that was much more affectionate than it had been all night. "Thanks for having me over, Cam," he said quietly. Cameron sat a little straighter. His eyes, as foggy as they were, lit up a little bit. Jonathan smiled. "Thanks for...letting me come back. I missed you." A weak smile slowly crawled over Cameron's face. Jonathan turned and looked at Dina too, his eyes staying just as soft. "I missed you a lot. It's really good to see you. The both of you. And... it's nice to finally be here again."

Dina melted. Kay's heart sank at the look on her face, and in her eyes. "It's nice to have you back," she returned, and there was no doubt in whether or not she meant it. Kay closed her eyes, wondering why it was so easy for her to lose her footing on this. She tried to ignore how much her stomach was twisting. "It hasn't felt quite the same, without you here."

It hasn't felt the same since Jonathan _ruined_ everything.

Kay's thoughts were sliced through and shattered when Jonathan turned back to Cam and started again. "And Cam, I can't... _tell_ you how sorry I am. I'm _really_ sorry. About the...whole thing." Cameron's smile faded. His expression grew sadder. "I _really_ am. I'm the worst brother. For...doing what I did, and I want to make it up to you. I _do_. And I don't care what it takes, I don't care how long it takes me, I wanna make it up to you somehow. I wanna to do whatever I can."

Dina was looking between the two of them. She cleared her throat, pushing away from the table with a small: 'I'll be right back.' She shot Kay a look when she did, a silent means of asking her to come along and give them a moment. But Kay didn't want to. She stayed where she was. Dina's eyes flashed, but she reluctantly kept walking. This entire time, Cameron was silent, just staring at Jonathan and digesting the sentiment. He didn't even turn to watch when Dina headed down the hall, pretending to need to get something. Eventually, he cracked a tiny smile. "You d'n't have to do anythin'," he practically whispered.

"I do," he objected. Cameron started to shake his head, but the expression on Jonathan's face was enough to stop him. "I _do,_ though. I _do_." He hesitated, before he nodded again. "I do." The two words were flat, and mumbled out. Before Cameron could say anything, Jonathan sucked in a sharper breath, and he reached out, putting a hand on Cameron's shoulder and keeping it there. Cameron looked at his touch the moment it came, but he didn't pull away. "Hey," Jonathan repeated again, in that same monotone. Cameron looked back at him, in time to see his eyebrows raise imploringly. His next question came out quieter. "Are you okay?"

He'd already asked it, but he hadn't asked it _this_ way. He was drunk – they both were, Jonathan just less so – but he was looking at Cameron steadier, and sadder. Pleading with him to tell him the truth. Cameron blinked a couple times. "I'm f—" He was starting to reply, but he stopped short, perking. His eyes widened. "N—wai— where's—?" He turned quickly all around, like he forgot where he was and was trying to get his bearings. He started to look alarmed, and Kay began to lean forward, when he finally turned enough to see her. The second he did, the alarm vanished and he grinned. She deflated, looking at him with apprehension. But he just smiled. He reached out like he was going to touch her, but his arm went limp halfway through and it just dropped to the table. "Oh, no— she's right here," he laughed. She opened her mouth, but he was already turning back to Jonathan. "'M fine," he declared.

She weakened.

Jonathan looked at her, a frown creasing over his face. When she realized this, her gaze turned slightly reproachable. He shifted uneasily in his chair. He ducked his head a little bit and hesitated, before he mumbled: "I was...wrong about Kay, Cam." He looked at her as he said this, despite the fact he was addressing his brother. Kay's lips pressed together hard. For some reason, her stomach was twisting. "She's different. She's good."

"Yeah," Cameron gushed, sinking back into his knees. Softly, but wholeheartedly, he murmured: "I love her." Casually, like it didn't matter, and he'd said it a million times before. She did a double-take, looking at him with something close to the same alarm he'd had when he'd thought she'd left. He wasn't even paying attention to her, though; he was staring ahead, too disoriented. After a heartbeat, though, he snorted, and grinned. "Sh's way too _good_ for me, though."

Kay wilted even more. She tried to interject. "Cameron..."

Jonathan was taking another drink of what was left in his cup, and he choked a little at this. He looked at Cameron, and his eyes flashed mischievously. "Well, _I_ certainly wasn't going to say anything!" Cameron ducked his head and started giggling; Kay flashed a warning glare at Jonathan. He was oblivious. But he was quick to lean over and nudge Cameron again, shaking his head. "C'mon, you're _the amazing Cameron Black."_ The chirp was layered in sarcasm. "Nothing is ever too good for you."

" _No, I'm_ _here,_ and _she's_..." He put one hand down a millimeter above the table. He raised his other as high as it would go; the only reason he didn't put it all the way up was because of the pain the stretching caused him. He stopped short and huffed as he let them both fall. He laughed again. "I dunno— 's bullshit. The whole thing— the whole thing is just one big, giant...big..." He gestured awkwardly, and sighed as he threw him another look. "I'm _done._ With like _...pretty much everything."_

Kay stiffened. She cleared her throat and grabbed his elbow gently. "Cameron, it's getting late..."

Cameron jerked his arm back, not even looking at her. She grimaced at the harsh yank. "An' you know what _else_ I'm done with!?" he demanded. Jonathan was laughing again. "'M done...with... _thewholething_ , 'm done with..." He started to count clumsily on his fingers. "Helping people, that's gone, shouldn't do that anymore— I am done with...I don' like the little _dogs_ that people have in their little purses!" he exploded, flipping on a dime. "'M done! If you are gonna have a dog...and 's gonna be _that cute...just hold it! Why aren't you holding it!? It doesn't like the bag!_ I bet it doesn' like the bag," he ended in a grumble. As the night wore on, so did his voice.

"You don't know," Jonathan pointed out. "Maybe they do."

"'Nd you know what else I'm done with?" Kay watched as his expression darkened for just a split second. It was more difficult to tell, thanks to the fact he was so wasted. However, she picked up on the brief but haunted expression. "'M done with— the shows." Jonathan straightened, clearly surprised. Cameron shook his head again. "No more— shows," he kept sticking on the word. "You shouldn't've had to do them, but I...jus' don't want to do them at all. Anymore. So. 'M done with shows. No more shows."

It took Jonathan a second to wrap his head around. "Cam you don't...you don't have to do that."

"'M not _doing_ anything, I don't want to do them anymore," he replied. "So we won't."

Jonathan looked at him for a long moment. Kay's eyes were flickering carefully between the two. She was sitting on the very edge of her chair. "We'll fix it," he announced suddenly. Cameron blinked, looking at him blearily. He was still in that defensive sort of curl. Jonathan offered him a smile. "We'll fix it," he repeated, more bracing. "Just because Dad was...doesn't mean we have to be. And...I know I messed up...but...I think we can still fix it. The whole thing." He hesitated, before he prompted hesitantly: "...Right?"

Cameron said nothing for a long time. As he started to reply, he reached out for his glass again, uncurling and dropping his legs again so he could stretch easier. He wasn't looking; he extended out too far on accident. "Maybe...not the who—" Trying to pull his arm back, he accidentally knocked over the cup on the way. and all that was left in it splashed back over him. It was only about a third full. But it still got all over the table, and him. Kay immediately jumped up and rushed for the kitchen to get some paper towels. Cameron looked at himself in bleary confusion.

"You okay?" Jonathan asked, grabbing the glass and setting it aside. "I think you might've had enough Cam."

Kay was getting as many paper towels as she could. She heard Cameron's soft reply. "'M'fine, I...'s'fine..."

"Here, let me help—"

"I got it."

"Wait, you...just..."

There was a tiny gap of silence. Kay was just turning with the hoard of towels, when Jonathan's voice made her freeze immediately. "What the _fuck_?" It was wildly different than it had been before. All night he'd been so happy, just being there with Cameron. The more he drank the more it oozed affection or humor or anything else along that line. Now it was the polar opposite. It was shocked and confused, but most of all it was choked thick. It was appalled. Initially, she had no idea what the matter was. What had changed in such a short amount of time, while her back was turned. Until she did a double-take and really _looked_ at Cameron, and she realized.

He'd taken off the sweatshirt.

It had gotten wet. With the lack of on-hand napkins, his first impulse was to just slip it off over his head. It was clear by the look on his face that he hadn't even been thinking about it. That he'd been so distracted, so preoccupied with what was going on, he'd forgotten what was underneath his sleeve. Why he was wearing the hoodie in the first place. And it ripped Kay's heart apart completely to see the expression on his face now, because of that simple fact.

He'd _forgotten_ it.

For the first time in a long time, or maybe for the actual first time _ever_ , he'd forgotten about the wound on his arm.

Now Jonathan was staring at it with blatant dismay. Openly horrified. Openly repulsed.

For a second, the three were in a limbo of panic, too stunned to move or even say anything. A terrible silence existed. Cameron was staring at Jonathan with his mouth halfway open. Jonathan couldn't rip his eyes away from the wound, freshly scarring over, and scarring over poorly. At the skin that was mutilated into that letter, sharp and deep and painful to see. She would have grimaced away from it too if she hadn't been so stuck on Cameron's face. She would have looked at the wound, stretching all the way from the inside of his elbow up towards his wrist, and she would have felt that same horror. The carving was heart-wrenching to see. But it wasn't as heart-wrenching as he _looked_.

Cameron was struggling to collect himself. An already-difficult feat but even worse, with how much he'd had to drink. Jonathan beat him to the punch. _"What is that!?"_ He was yelling. Cameron cringed. He blinked fast, and before he even really knew it, he was looking down at the injury himself. His breath caught in his throat, in a horrible and clenched gasp. Kay went rigid as she saw his eyes already flooding with water. His hands were starting to tremble. He'd avoided looking at the wound himself like it was a plague. Now it was staring him in the face. Possibly the first time. He couldn't respond. It just made Jonathan worse. "Cameron!" he snapped, and Cameron jerked like he'd been smacked. _"What is that!? What happened!?"_

"It's...it's...noth—" He was struggling to get a single thing out. He couldn't.

Kay started to rush over, getting over the mental hurdle. "Jonathan, _stop_!" Her voice was acidic.

Jonathan jerked out and grabbed Cameron's wrist, yanking his arm out straight so he could see the injury better. This was the _worst_ thing he could possibly have chosen to do. The very instant Jonathan's hand locked around his wrist, Cameron was stiffening. But the instant his arm was pulled, panic slammed into him like a freight train, and an involuntary scream immediately ripped itself out of his mouth. It was clenched and weak, but it was absolutely terrified at the same time. Like Jonathan was attacking him; like the very instant he touched him, his skin was on fire. Like he was the one who'd put that there.

Jonathan jerked in shock at the visceral reaction, too shocked to do anything. Kay had dropped her burden of paper towels on the way over, and when she reached him, she practically tore him off of Cameron. She was so angry, she actually managed the feat. _"Get off of him!"_ she spat. By now Dina was running back in, winded and confused at the scene that met her. Kay struggled to keep herself between the two, and absolute rage choked her when Jonathan started to try and push her away to get back to him.

"Cameron, what is that!?" he demanded, anger and worry and guilt and everything in between making him rash; the alcohol wasn't helping in any way. He was yelling too loud, he sounded too furious. Cameron looked sick— his breathing was sharpening and gasping, and he was curling back into himself again. Trying to hide from the questions, from the sharp reactions, but there was nowhere to go. Looking at him, Jonathan's fury only mounted, making it worse. "What happened? Tell me what happened! _Who did that to you!?"_

" _Jonathan!"_ Kay snapped, all but shoving him back by the shoulders to try and keep him away.

" _Nobody told me about that!"_ Jonathan yelled, and Kay stiffened even more. "Cam! Cam— who did that to you!?"

Cameron didn't react. His eyes were huge, but they were glassy and unfocused, like he was looking at something else. He was shaking more and more as he just stared blankly at his wrist, where Jonathan had grabbed him. He was hyperventilating, unresponsive to Dina as she leaned down in front of him and tried to get him to calm down, or at least breathe a little deeper. Kay scowled, practically hissing through her teeth at Jonathan. "Get out," she growled. "Get out— I knew this was a bad idea— you have to leave."

He didn't even respond to her order. He just looked at her – really, actually looked at her – and asked: "Do you know who it was?" His voice was so tight with anger it was barely able to get out in the first place. It was like he was seeing red. Kay's eyes stayed narrowed; he _knew_ she didn't. She'd told him that already. But he went on, and she realized that he hadn't asked it because he'd forgotten. Not at all. "Do you know who did this— did you even _think_ about trying to figure it out— did you even _care_ enough to get the son of a bitch?"

Dina stood up from Cameron, stricken. "Jonathan!" Misery was severe disappoint was rife in her expression. She was trying to keep ahold of the night, trying to dig her heels in and tug it back to the way it had been, so perfect up to now. One little thing, and it was unraveling everywhere.

Kay locked her jaw back hard. She gritted her teeth so much that they ached. It took her a second to get her voice back, and when she did, she was so furious she could hardly be heard. "How... _dare_ you," she spat. Jonathan's glare only sharpened, but she matched it wholeheartedly. "How _dare_ you accuse _me_ of not caring for him. When _you_ were the one that made this happen. When _I_ was the one who got him out, who got him home, and who listened to him _cry about how you weren't coming back."_

Her voice was shaking now; she wasn't sure if it was because she was so enraged, or because she was trying not to cry. It was most likely a mixture of both. "I went along with tonight because he wanted me to— because _everything I do is for him._ I didn't think for _one second_ you deserved _any_ kind of forgiveness, and I _still_ don't. I _never will_." Jonathan's anger was leaking away. _Good._ "How is it fair that you get to pretend it never happened and Cameron can never do the same thing? You can _walk_ in here and _bring up old stories_ and make it seem like nothing's wrong, but it _still_ doesn't change the fact that _you_ left him there on purpose. That you _purposefully made sure I wouldn't know to help him before it was too late."_

She shook her head, derision and contempt thick in her voice and layered on her face. "You're too late, Jonathan," she emphasized. "And this— this isn't helping. You have _no_ idea how hard this is for him, because you haven't _been here._ You have no idea what to say, what _not to_ now you need to leave." He started to open his mouth but she didn't want to hear it. "Cameron might let you back— that's up to him— but right now, you need to leave. Call Gunter, call someone, I don't care, just get out." He didn't know what to do when this happened; he was only going to make it worse. He'd triggered the entire thing by grabbing him. And she knew Cameron; she knew how upset he was going to be once this episode passed. How disappointed and ashamed of himself he'd be, and if Jonathan was still there, it would be ten times as worse.

He stared at her dismally, saying nothing. Fixing him with one last loathing-filled glare, she started to turn. Only to jerk back and throw him one last withering scowl. "I lost my sister when I was little," she growled. Jonathan looked from her, to Cameron. "Every day I miss her, and I would give _anything_ to have her back. You tried to throw him away— and you have _no_...idea how _close_ you were to getting _exactly_ what you wanted." She wanted to say more; she felt it build on her tongue. But she also felt the uselessness of it. And she could hear Cameron behind her, still panicking, so she only stared at him for a second longer. Then she turned and went back for him, crouching down to try and catch his gaze as she reached up and held his face gently.

She went through the motions she always needed to take. The ones she had memorized. She shook her head, whispering any kind of soothe she could think of. "Hey, Cameron...Cameron, it's okay, it's okay, you're fine, you're at home...you're at home, Cameron." Jonathan watched in horrified silence as she pried Cameron's hand away from his arm. He'd been digging his nails hard into the sensitive skin of the wound, gouging into it subconsciously. It took a considerable amount of effort for her to do this, and once she did, she moved the hand instead to the table, to press it against its edge. "Cameron, look, you can feel the table. Cameron— Cam, listen to me and try to think, I know it's hard: there _wasn't a table there._ There wasn't a table, but there's one right here; you're _home_."

Cameron cringed. He barely choked out a tiny: "...can't..."

"You can breathe, Cameron, I promise— I _promise."_

Dina was staring at them sadly, but eventually she turned. When she looked at Jonathan she wasn't angry like Kay was. She was just upset. That a night so familiar and fun could be ruined so easily. That she'd helped it to get this way, just because she was fooled into thinking things could be patched. Over dinner. Over games. Something as terrible as this. So, when she looked at Jonathan it was just in sorrow and regret. Jonathan hardly noticed. He was too busy staring at Kay, watching her hold Cameron and guide him out of whatever he was stuck in. How he was reaping comfort from her, moving to hold to her arms like she was a lifeline.

He used to look at _him_ for comfort. Help. He used to...come to _him._

Dina murmured that she would call a cab for him. That Kay was right— he should leave, for right now. Jonathan couldn't argue. He was led away, his eyes never leaving Cameron. Kay's back was to them; she wasn't sparing any kind of thought of the other people in the room. She was just tracking Cameron's gasps, listening to them even out and slow gradually. She watched his shoulders untense; not by much. She watched the fear and panic melt into exhaustion, like it always did whenever these acute onsets occurred. All the while she kept whispering softly, kept reassuring him there was nothing keeping him from breathing, kept holding his face and wiping away his tears.

It took a while – she should have cut him off much sooner, that was her fault – but eventually he came back to himself. He separated himself into reality again and the light that flashed back to life in his eyes told her that he was back. Or, as back as he could be with how much he'd had to drink. She could tell in the look that came over his face. In the way he curled more inward, and the way he ducked his head. She tried to keep eye contact with him anyway, more than pained. "Cameron?" she murmured. He didn't react, but now she knew he heard. "Cameron, it's okay— let's just go to bed, okay? It's late."

He cringed even more. He pulled away from her and held his head in his hands instead. He hunched over onto the table and buried his face away, like he couldn't bear to even be looked at. He was absolutely silent. She felt like an elephant was sitting directly on her lungs. "...Cameron, I know—"

"I want to be alone." She hardly heard the tiny sob.

Kay closed her eyes. She tried to bite back on the pain his hollowness caused her. She hesitated, before: "Cameron, it's not your fault, Jonathan shouldn't have—"

"I want to be alone..." he repeated weakly. His shoulders were shaking.

She looked at him, feeling empty. Her eyes stung. She started to whisper: "Cameron, I want to _help,_ I—"

"If you want to help, just _leave me alone!"_ The last three words were practically screamed. They would have been, if not for the same reasons as always. She flinched. But this was only because he was upset. He wasn't yelling at her, he was yelling at himself. She anticipated it happening...it didn't make it any easier to swallow. But she tried. She stared down at her hands in her lap, suddenly feeling small and insignificant.

She took in a slow breath. "I'll wait for you," she offered. She looked back up at him, straining to see his face. There wasn't any use. "You don't have to be alone, Cameron..." she pointed out. It fell on deaf ears. Or just unwilling ones. So, she just ducked her head and nodded. "Okay." She stood up and gave him one last chance to change his mind. He kept his head down, though. For all it was worth, he could have fallen asleep; the trembling still remaining in his hands was enough to prove he wasn't, though. "I'll be right down the hall...if you need me, Cameron. Dina, too." Still nothing.

Taking her time, and wanting to double back the entire way, she started to back out of the room. To give Cameron what he wanted. To find Dina, to make sure Jonathan left, to tell her that Cameron needed space. Maybe space would help. Maybe it was better for him not to be under such worried gazes— she knew how much it got to him, sometimes. And yet at the same time, she promised herself she wouldn't close the bedroom door. She wouldn't fall asleep— she would keep an ear out. She would make sure he was okay, and that if something sounded wrong or went wrong, she could rush out and to him quickly to help fix it.

The plans were already forming before she even got out of the room.

And some part of her hated herself for that.

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

Cameron didn't get out of bed the next day. Kay had left in the morning for work, and when she came back, he was in the exact same position. Still curled away under the covers like it was a protective layer from everything else. He didn't want anything to eat, even though she tried to plead with him. He didn't want to do anything at all. She gave up trying to worm out conversation, either. He was silent. She was worried he was shut down entirely, but when she got back into bed next to him she was relieved when he turned back into her.

That was all he did, though. He didn't wrap his arms around her, or say anything. She held him anyway, and quietly asked if he was okay. If he wanted to talk. He said nothing, and it was with a heavy heart that she just took to running her fingers through his hair, trying to offer him comfort in any way she could. Cameron didn't even acknowledge the touch. She looked at him and realized with a pang that he was staring dully down at his arm which rested between them. He wasn't wearing a long-sleeved shirt; it was the first time he hadn't since he'd gotten home. The garish injury was fully revealed, and, laying on his side, Cameron wasn't even blinking as he just studied it.

Before, he couldn't even stomach the sight.

The look on his face was a dead one. Expressionless. She wondered how long he had been looking at his arm. If he'd looked at the wound all day, curled away from everything else. Kay had to control herself enough not to flinch at the realization it was probably exactly what had happened. She wanted to ask him if he was okay— break this horrible silence between them. But she knew he wouldn't accept the effort. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes for a moment, before she leaned over and pressed a light kiss to his forehead.

At first, he didn't react to this, either. But then his expression broke, and he cringed, like he was in physical pain. He spoke, and his voice was so defeated and ruined she almost wished he hadn't. "I ruined it," he cried, his words already thick with tears. She was rushing to object, but he wasn't done. "I ruined the entire thing, we were _happy_ , I was _happy,_ and he was _home,_ and I _ruined_ it..."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Cameron. Okay? You couldn't help it—"

"Because I'm so fucking pathetic," he growled, and the resentment in his voice caught her off-guard. He glowered down at his arm as he said this, anger flooding his gaze. But it was too quick to leak away. To be replaced with the horrible sorrow again, bone-deep and raw. "I'm the problem," he whimpered. "Everyone else can go back to normal— _I'm_ the one that can't; _I'm_ the one that's wrong." He took in a sharp breath. "And I'm never going to get better, I'm always going to be ruining it— I blew it, and I'm going to keep blowing it..."

"Cameron, shh— it'll get better. It'll get easier, you just have to give it time to—"

"I'm so _sick_ of it!" he sobbed out suddenly, cutting her off at once. "I'm sick of _one little thing_ just— _ruining everything,_ it's always— the stupidest things, because I can't even do anything right, it— I'm _sick_ of being this way, I'm _sick_ of being stuck like this— I'm sick of doing it."

Her stomach fell. Her fingers stilled in his hair. She was quiet for a long moment, before she whispered: "Cameron...you—"

He pulled away from her. She took her arms back at once, to allow him to do whatever he wanted. But her heart was heavy and lodged hard in her throat when he turned over onto his other side. When he put his back to her and curled up even more. Still staring at his arm with that horrible expression that was so empty and yet so pained at the same time. Her mouth was dry as she stared at him and tried to come up with something to say. Her eyes burned.

She couldn't find the words. But she knew for a fact that even if she did, he wouldn't want to hear them.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She woke up in the middle of the night. She didn't know why. Her eyes just opened, and at first, simple habit almost got her to close them right away and go back to sleep before she got too awake. But something stopped her— the realization she was cold. She used to sleep alone every night before all of this, but now she had grown so accustomed to having Cameron right there with her, almost always not even an inch away. She was used to his body heat, she was used to his arms around her. Even when he'd pulled away, she could still feel him beside her.

When she woke up, she realized it almost at once: there was no one in bed with her.

She blinked a couple times and started to sit up, but her suspicions were correct. Cameron's spot was empty. The covers had been pulled away. She reached out to that half of the mattress, and she felt how cold it was. How long ago he must have slipped out. And immediately she was succumbing to the hovering anxiety that was always near. She was throwing off her own covers, turning and feeling her way out of the dark room into the hall. None of the other lights were on. She checked everywhere. Jonathan's room, the living room, upstairs, downstairs. Calling out Cameron's name every so often in a hushed whisper.

She walked into the kitchen and narrowed her eyes against the dark when something caught her eye. She found the light switch and flicked it on, her face falling when she did. There were bottles on the table. Empty ones. She walked over to check, but every one of them was drained. At first, she was livid, not only at Dina but at herself for not just throwing it all out in the first place. But she realized they were different bottles than what they'd stored away. Than what had been here before. And that the amount far exceeded what had been left over by the time the night with Jonathan had ended.

These were different. New. Someone had gone out and gotten them.

It just set her nerves off more. She turned and started for Dina's room. She didn't want to wake her up and worry her for nothing, but by this point it was better to do more than she needed to, than to do too little. Cameron's words from before had bothered her. They were still ringing in the back of her mind, in his hollow, defeated tone. Seeing the mess in the kitchen her mental alarms were blaring; she was growing so worried; her hands were beginning to shake. Where _was_ he? What was he doing? Had he gone out to get all that? How fast had he drank it? Why was he—?

She stopped short, freezing abruptly. She ducked her head and turned a little bit, but picked her head up fast once she heard the sound. She looked over towards the bathroom down the hall. The shower— she could hear the shower running. At first, she was tempted to sag with relief. There were worse things Cameron could be doing. It certainly wasn't Dina in there this early in the morning. And it made sense. Unfortunately. It wasn't unfounded that he was in there.

And yet she still hesitated, standing in the dark hall and looking at the light that was shining underneath the gap between the door and the ground. Something still felt wrong. Something still wasn't sitting right. With the image of what had been in the kitchen in her mind, Kay scrounged up the resolve and walked the rest of the way there. She knocked on the door, staring at the ground and trying to listen out for what was on the other side. There wasn't an answer, so she called out a little louder: "Cameron?" Still, nothing. Her forehead creased, and she looked back up. Knocked again. "Cameron, are you okay?"

There still wasn't a reply.

She hesitated a moment more. But her heart was beginning to pick up. Her hands were still shaking. And they kept shaking, as she reached out and tried to the doorknob. It wasn't locked. "Cameron, can I come in?" This time she wasn't expecting a response, and it was with grim affirmation she still didn't receive one. She threw restraint out the window and opened the door, letting herself inside. At first, she was confused, because she didn't see anything. The shower was on, but the curtain was pulled back and nobody was actually standing in it. The mirror wasn't fogged with steam; in fact, the entire room seemed colder than normal, almost.

"Cameron?" she asked, stepping inside slowly. The confusion on her face stayed and built, until she became aware of a tiny noise— so soft she wasn't even able to hear it until she walked a few feet in. But once she did, she looked down, and her expression immediately changed. Her eyes stretched wide with horror and shock, and she staggered, a hand reaching up to clap over her mouth. _"Cameron!"_ The cry was thick and terrified and confused and about a million other things. She had to overcome the initial blow of shock to even be able to do anything. To rush over and fall to her knees.

Cameron was on the floor of the bathtub, underneath the spray. Fully clothed. He was curled up into a tight ball, and he was shaking so much it almost looked like he was convulsing. The sounds she'd heard that had gotten her to look down in the first place were clenched, high-pitched whimpers that were involuntarily leaking out of a mouth that was tightly closed. Looking wildly from him to the showerhead, Kay stuck her hand into the stream and immediately jerked it back to herself. The water was freezing. The knob was turned as far right as it could possibly go.

She jerked out and slammed the water off, going back to Cameron and struggling to realize what was going on. "Cameron!?" He didn't react to her; he just kept shivering and whimpering horribly. "Cameron, what were you doing!? How long have you been—?" His lips had a bluish tint to them, and his teeth were chattering, but her eyes were caught on something else. He was bleeding. There was a cut on his forehead, like he'd fallen, or hit his head against something. "Cameron, what did you do!?" she demanded.

She turned, looking wildly for a towel. She yanked three out of the cabinet and returned quickly, draping them over him and quickly trying to bundle him up. He was freezing to the touch. She could feel how violent his shivers were. "Cameron— Cameron, you have to get out, we need to get you warm, I need to stop that bleeding." Her expression cracked and her voice followed suit as she whispered desperately, mostly to herself: "What were you _doing_!?"

He mumbled something. Too hoarse and too small to hear.

She stiffened at once, leaning down closer. "What?" she demanded. Feeling a stupid amount of relief at the fact he was actually aware enough to even try to talk.

"I'm stained," he repeated tearfully, only the tiniest bit louder.

Kay did a double-take, straightening a little as her eyes rounded out with sorrow. "You're…?" She hesitated for a long moment, before she got her wits about her enough to speak. "You're _stained?"_ she echoed. He just kept shivering, kept curling up tighter, like he was trying to conserve warmth he in no way had anymore. "No, you're not, Cameron. You're perfectly fine." He didn't answer her and she wilted. Ut she was quick to shake her head and lean down, grabbing ginger hold of his arm and starting to try and hoist him up. "Look, we need to get you out of here, okay?" She was fighting to keep her voice level. Not to show how panicked she actually was. He was loose when she started to tug him up. His expression bleary and far away. "We need to get you out of here, Cameron, we're going to get you warm and it's going to look better in the morning, you—"

Cameron wrenched away from her. Despite how weak the movement was, it was enough. He fell back against the floor of the tub, flinching away from her. "I'm the— I'm—" His eyes cracked open and he looked down at himself, his clothes soaking wet and sticking to him. It was difficult to discern what he was saying with his words so slurred, but she managed regardless. "I'm _stained_ ," he mumbled miserably. Kay cringed in frustration, stomping down her sorrow and trying to stay firm, despite how much his voice was shaking. "I'm _stained_ , I can'— get it off..." His breathing was punctured and sharp, from the cold water. He was heaving for air, gasping like he'd just run a marathon.

She watched as he moved his arms again, and looked at his right arm. He was crying. There was no telling how much were tears and how much was just water from the shower. He only cried more when he forced himself to look down at the wound on his forearm. He looked like he was liable to be sick. "No matter what I do I can' get it off…no matter what I do 'm still— dirty," he cried, his words gradually breaking down into sobs. "It's still there, 's still there…" He cried for a moment, Kay too caught off-guard to do anything for him. It was only when he moved and started wiping his other hand against the injury that she snapped out of it. If scrubbing at the freshly-healed carving wasn't enough, he was using his left hand to do so. His sobbing only started to puncture and escalate, the pain on his face growing tenfold.

"Hey, hey, hey!" She reached down and grabbed his left arm to tear it away. He cringed when she did and tried to fight her, but she wasn't leaving him the ability to. She _had_ to get him out of here, and get him warm. And in the state he was in, she could easily overpower him. She just had to ignore the heartbreaking objections he was spouting. "C'mon, Cameron," she said instead, fighting to keep her voice in check. "We're going to bed. We're going to get you out and we're going to get you dry, and you're going to go to bed. It'll look better in the morning. Everything always looks better in the morning."

"Stop! Let go!" She cringed and tried to block out his yelling, the way he was fighting, but she couldn't. Eventually, she had no choice. "Let go! _Stop it! Stop it, please!"_ She cringed when his yelling escalated into something way too close to terror, and yanked her arms back to herself. Cameron fell away from her and back down again. But he didn't even cry out. He just curled up once more against the wet porcelain, ducking his head and covering it with his hands like it was some kind of emergency drill and he was just trying to take cover. And he fell completely silent, too…like he was hiding from something. Or someone.

Kay had to take a couple of deep breaths. Her voice was more strained when she forced herself to croak: "…Cameron, _please_ …you're drunk." The last two words were empty. "You're drunk and upset and _tired_ , and your clothes are all wet, please just get out. Please. Aren't you cold, Cameron? Cameron, you're too cold, we need to get you warm. Please. _…Please."_ Her voice was breaking.

He ignored her. If he'd even understood or heard her in the first place. His mumbling was so soft and thick she almost couldn't decipher it. But thankfully, he was a broken record, and he repeated himself when she leaned down towards him. "Pleas' turn it back on," he pleaded in nothing more than a whimper. Her face fell and her heart twisted. In the weight of the sorrow that slammed into her, she couldn't even bring herself to breathe, let alone give him an answer. He only made it worse when he kept repeating himself, only growing more and more tearful the more he did. "Please— please turn it back on…please let me try…I only want to try, I just want to try…I just want the water back on…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She managed to get him out. She managed to get him out and steer him back to his room. Ignoring the way he cried, the way he pleaded with her to let him try to wash his arm off, the way he sobbed that he was just trying to fix it, and _why wouldn't she let him fix it?_ To all this, she said absolutely nothing. She locked her jaw back against the pain she felt, and she just kept helping him walk. They got back to his room and she helped dry him off. He was soaking wet, his hair slicked down completely. He was still choking and whimpering involuntarily with every shiver, and all of that taken into account, he had to have been in there for way too long.

And again...she had come to get him far too late.

She got him into dry clothes. Feeling sick when she did because she saw his sides again, and how bruised they still were. She saw all the injuries that were normally covered at all times. She stomached it. She just soothed him quietly every so often, apologizing when he was in pain because of her. His head was pretty much done bleeding it seemed, by the time they got back, but she still cleaned it and put a gauze patch over the gash. She was worried it wouldn't be enough. Something could be wrong...couldn't it? "Did you fall into the shower?" she asked in a murmur, as she made sure the bandage was set fast to his skin.

Cameron's lips hardly moved when he replied. "'s...just...tryin' to..." He didn't finish.

Kay was crying, but she was doing it silently. She helped him back up, reassuring him thickly that it was alright and he wouldn't have to move again after this. She got him back into bed, and she fetched two more blankets to layer on top of him. She tucked him in as much as she could, trying to trap whatever body heat he had left. And, hesitantly, because she felt like she had to do something else, she slipped back into bed with him. She would tell Dina in the morning. And she would watch him, and make sure nothing bad happened. If it did, she would act. But for right now...there wasn't much else to do.

She crawled into next to him and pulled him close to her. He was like ice. All the same, she steeled herself, knowing it would help him if she snuggled close. Cameron was lifeless in her arms. His eyes were closed and his breathing was finally beginning to even out. Hopefully that meant he was feeling warmer. Kay clung to him, her stomach twisting. Her voice was weak when she broke the earsplitting silence. "Why did you do that?" He didn't reply to her croak. She sniffed. "Did you go out and get all that alcohol?"

This, he did answer. His voice was muffled against her shoulder. "Don't...wanna feel," he sighed.

Her lips trembled. Something inside her broke. She finally said it. The thing she'd been thinking this entire time, and was too afraid to say. Something she knew he would hate, she knew he would reject. But there was no avoiding it now— there was no denying that this was it. That this was rock bottom. Or...it _wasn't_ rock bottom. But it was the closest she was willing to let Cameron get. The closest they could get without serious harm taking place. Without something horrible happening.

She got it out quietly. Barely, with how tearful it was. "You need help, Cameron," she cried. Cameron didn't react. She looked at him dismally. He looked asleep, but she knew he wasn't. His expression was serene and relaxed because he had no other choice. Looking at him, she felt sick, remembering what he'd told her before. _'_ _I mean— they only left because…I couldn't even flinch, I was…so gone, I…'_ Her lips shook even more. Her voice crumbled even more. "You need help— you need help I can't give you."

She waited for him to respond. Eventually he did, but it wasn't what she wanted at all. His forehead creased for just a split moment, before he whispered in a tiny sigh: "I jus'...don't wanna _be_ here 'nymore..." Simply, like it was common knowledge and he was reminding her of it. It snatched her breath away at once. It made her choke, and feel like this time she was the one that was suffocating. She pulled away and looked at him despairingly. He was oblivious.

Her heart shattered into a million pieces. She was sure she'd never felt more pain than she did hearing him admit the fact. Her throat grew hot and tight, and her breathing sharpened as her eyesight blurred through a sheen of water. Her lips shook as she started running her fingers through his hair again. "But...I love you," she whispered desperately.

Cameron only sighed, exhaling slowly and a little heavier than normal. He said nothing. And she realized a few minutes later that he had finally fallen asleep against her. The only sound was his soft and deep breathing. And the echo of her confession bouncing back off the walls to hurt her full-force.

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

She was holding his hand. Sitting close beside him so that her head could lean down on his shoulder. She felt how stiff he was, and how nervous; every so often she would lean more into him and stroke her thumb soothingly across his skin. Neither of them spoke because there was no use in it. He couldn't keep track of a conversation. He was too preoccupied; his eyes would flicker elsewhere, he would shake his head like he was trying to jar something out of it. But the silence just made everything stretch on longer.

Cameron and Kay had been sitting there for ages. He shifted again, and she frowned, trying to break the quiet again. She'd attempted the feat quite a few times before and none of them had taken. She wasn't sure this one would be very different, but she might as well try. "Are you okay?" she murmured. Cameron looked back at her, and the expression on his face seemed to be reply enough. He looked pained, and tense, like he was on the brink of panicking. He shifted again, underneath her concerned stare. He just looked away. Her heart twisted.

"I'm proud of you," she said softly. Cameron sighed and hunched his shoulders. She sat up more so she could meet his gaze. "I _am_ ," she insisted. He only offered her a curt nod. It looked like he almost said something, but thought better of it. She wondered if it was just the lighting of the room that made his eyes seem shinier than normal, or whether it was because he was upset. "You're helping yourself. That's all this is. This could fix so many things…I _hope_ it fixes so many things. And the second it doesn't help, or the second it gets worse, you can always change your mind. You can _always_ stop."

"Yeah. I guess," he mumbled.

She weakened. "Hey." He turned to her, but only reluctantly. She smiled at him, trying to be as encouraging as possible. She reached up with her free hand to caress his cheek. He let out a slow breath when she did, and she softened as she moved to draw her fingers through his hair. She nodded. "It'll be okay," she pledged. Cameron's eyes searched her own, like he was skeptical. "Everything will be fine. I promise."

He smiled, but it was a sad kind of smile. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He'd said it about seven different ways now, for about seven different things. Each one hurt her to listen to. "I'm sorry I'm..." She held his hand even tighter and kept running her fingers through his hair, noticing that bit by bit he was relaxing more and more. Not in great amounts, and not very quickly, but he was relaxing. It was something.

"Don't be," she returned. "It's all going to be fine. _We're_ going to be fine. And no matter what happens, I will stay...right here. I will care about you just as much." Cameron seemed unlikely to believe the sentiment, which she'd unfortunately expected. He looked a little pained, and like he wasn't sure what his response should be. But thankfully enough, he only had a few seconds to hesitate. The door opened, and the both of them roused. Kay kept hold of his hand but took back her other one. Cameron's face fell, and she felt him go rigid again. Despite the vibe that was coming off of the two, the doctor gave them a bright smile.

"Hello Mister Black," she greeted warmly. Cameron winced and fidgeted again. Her own nametag declared herself to be Doctor Mary Cravens. She had brown hair that was pulled back neatly, and bright blue eyes. Like she had barrels of energy, despite the fact it was near the end of the work day. "I was surprised to see your name— I've seen your specials. My son just _loves_ them; he says he wants to be a magician one day like you." Cameron tried to give her a smile. Kay could see the pain it took to drag his lips up to fit the gesture. "Oh, but you'll have to excuse me— I bet you get that all the time! It's probably awfully annoying!"

"It's fine," he offered, his voice soft. Kay ran her thumb back and forth across the top of his hand.

Doctor Craven's smile lost the smallest touch of its fervor. She nodded and looked down at her clipboard. Kay could see the papers that Cameron had had to fill out in the waiting room. She'd sat apart from him to allow him the space to do so. But she was guilty of having watched out of the corner of her eye, and she was guilty of seeing him circle practically the entire sheet of symptoms. She could see the pen marks now, and it brought an ache to her heart. She could list them off herself, though. Insomnia, anxiety, panic attacks, tremors, mania, flashbacks, anorexia…it was a long and ugly list. "How long have you been experiencing these symptoms, Mister Black?"

" _Cameron."_ The correction was said a little too loud and a little too fast. She looked up quickly, but Cameron was already regretting it and wincing. "Cameron…is fine," he amended awkwardly. She gave him a smile to show that there was no harm, and he took in a slow breath. He looked down at his lap, finding it easier. "Uh…two weeks? Two and a half? My days are…kind of messed up, I…"

"It'll be four weeks tomorrow," Kay interjected. Cameron wilted.

The woman kept her smile. "Four weeks," she repeated. She shot him a kinder look. "I'm very sorry you've had to deal with all of these for that long. Hopefully we can get something for you that'll make it easier. Now, you…" She hesitated and her eyes glanced over to Kay. She seemed a tad flustered but asked regardless. "I'm sorry— are you…I don't think I remember reading that you were married," she aimed to Cameron.

"I'm not."

"Oh…well, I assume you're comfortable with discussing this with her in the room?" she prompted.

Cameron hesitated again, and Kay began to straighten. But eventually he landed on a small: "Yes."

The doctor nodded. "Alright." She took a deep breath and looked back down at the clipboard and picked up her question from before. "You marked that you have or have had thoughts about harming yourself…is that correct?" Cameron closed his eyes. Kay had to bite down on her pain to keep her expression unfazed. After a long pause, he gave a curt nod. "Alright." Her voice stayed just as even. "Are you _positive_ that in the time it takes for a prescription to go through to your pharmacy that you won't do anything rash? Or would you perhaps prefer inpatient care until—?"

"No." Again, this was said very loudly. Very quickly. He checked himself and mumbled softer: "I'm fine."

Cravens seemed to consider this and size him up for a moment. Her eyes flickered to Kay, and their locked hands, and she seemed to draw her own conclusion on his safety. "Alright," she conceded, bringing her smile back once more. "Good. Now. Given the symptoms you listed, and the acuteness of their onset, I suggest we just talk a little bit more about your situation before we start coming up with ideas for medication, if that is something you want." Cameron's eyes were dragged to the side. He turned and looked out the window, his stare heavy. It had started to snow. He could see Christmas lights. His chest started to ache, as he wondered what he would be doing right now if things had just been different. Would he be drinking hot chocolate with Dina? Would he be making a gingerbread house with Jordan and ignoring Gunter when he told them they were both overgrown kids? Would he be decorating the entire Archive, crowding it with so many decorations Gunter would whine that it looked like they lived in a Hallmark?

Would he be _happy?_

Cravens kept on, her voice much too light for the words she was saying. "If you'd like to explain your situation a little bit more...your onset was awfully acute, but severe. Was there...a change in your life? A new source of stress?" He kept staring out the window. "Maybe you could tell me when the last time you were _truly_ happy was. Or...explain what it feels like when you have these symptoms. Are you...up at night because you're not tired? Because you're thinking about something?" He swallowed hard. "When you feel anxiety, does it kind of cloud everything else out? Do you feel a pressure on your chest?"

He wasn't listening. He tuned her out. He didn't even focus on Kay's hand in his anymore. He was just staring outside, his heart in his throat and his eyes beginning to sting. Mary slowly started to trail off, just studying him once she realized he was absent from the conversation. Her concern only mounted with every passing second Cameron stared off into space. Kay weakened and reached out to put an arm around his shoulders and draw him a little closer to her. "Hey," she murmured softly, trying to urge him to look at her. He didn't, but she kept trying anyway. "Cameron, it's okay," she whispered. His eyes welled up even more. "Everything's fine, Cameron. You need to stay here."

He just kept looking outside.

"Mister—" Mary quickly corrected herself. "Cameron? Are you alright?"

He was mute and unresponsive.

Wondering why in the world she was asking him that question.

When he was the very last person who would know the answer.


End file.
